The Great Shipgirl Swap
by Haibara-san
Summary: If your country's legends aren't answering the call... what lengths will you go to, to bring them home?
1. I, Yamato

I tried not to wince as another photographer's flash flared in my eyes.

The press conference was winding down, thankfully, if I had read my handler's signals correctly. And yet… the photographers have been taking snapshots the entire time, shutters clicking every other moment… and now was no exception.

I don't mind the television cameras. _Those_ , at least, aren't trying to blind me with little flashes of white light.

My eyes do have anti-glare filters, but they cast an amber shade across the entire eye when activated, and therefore are _not_ recommended for use at a public event where everyone had come to see me, hear me speak.

"Okay, one last question for miss Yamato, please. She has a meeting to attend."

Oh, I hope that's just an excuse to end my part in this conference. The only thing I want to do is go back to my quarters and lie down for a while… say, seven or eight hours. Maybe, I'll get something to eat. No more meet-and-greets, please!

"Yamato-sama, Hokkaidou Shimbun. Have you been deployed against any Abyssal fleets thus far – and if so, just how much of a rout were those encounters?"

A brief laugh filtered through the hall.

"I am afraid that I cannot comment on my deployments," I answered. "However, I, Yamato, assure you that we are doing everything within our power to end the Abyssals' reign of terror. The Abyssals shall not win."

I steeled myself against the tidal force of cheering I knew was about to surge, but the intensity surprised me. Hoping to hide it, I inclined my head. "Thank you."

Retrieving my parasol from where I'd left it, propped against the side of the podium, I stepped back, letting Naka take my place.

Really, she was far better at public relations than I; it would have been nice to continue letting her handle everything, but our superiors were well aware that during these dark and desperate times, the Japanese people – and the world – needed to know powerful and well-known shipgirls like the battleship Yamato were _there_. Ready and willing to fight for them, to send those Abyssals running in fear the instant she steamed onto the battlefield, her powerful guns giving no quarter.

My handler followed me out of the conference hall, where the two guards assigned to me were waiting. "Good job, Yamato-sama. That's it for today. Feel free to take the rest of the day off."

I offered him a faint smile. "No unscheduled meetings to attend?"

A chuckle. "No, no, you're good. Besides, the top brass would kill me if we overloaded your schedule, or otherwise left you too tired or unable to deploy at a moment's notice."

People wanted _the_ Yamato to tell them everything will turn out okay, and have the strength, courage and firepower to _make it happen_.

"Thank you for your hard work," I acknowledged, bowing, and let my guards lead me away. "I will see you tomorrow, then, Yeoman Akai."

A few more hallways and turns, the large service entrance at the rear, and we were in the parking lot, where the APC colored in Army olive drabs that had ferried us to the convention center waited. It had to be on loan, though I wasn't entirely sure why I'd assume that.

Standard procedure was for my escorts to verify with the guard stationed at the truck that nothing of note had happened, then spend more time making sure the truck wasn't somehow compromised, before they would let me board.

That left me with nothing to do for the next five to ten minutes, or so. Sighing, I reclined against the nearby retaining wall.

Hmm. The breeze has picked up since we went inside; it's tossing my hair around now. Feels nice. I closed my eyes.

"Ma'am?" I started, my head bobbing up. Oh, no… I didn't, did I…? "Everything's all-clear. We can get underway whenever you want."

The guard was _smirking_. I frowned. "I, Yamato, did _not_ fall asleep."

"Yes, ma'am." Still smirking.

Oh, forget it. If I don't let it go here, they'll never let me hear the end of it. Making my way to the back of the truck, I pulled myself up onto the bumper… ignoring the way the truck's suspension groaned and dipped uncomfortably close to the ground as I climbed into the back and sat down. Unfortunately, that was one of the issues with being a shipgirl of a 63,200-ton displacement battleship – it takes time for the body to adjust to no longer being that massive ship. The spiritual and magical echoes of the ship reflected a parallel of her former weight, a form of rigging I couldn't quite remove.

I can walk, run, jump onto the water and steam, all with no problems. But if I try to climb, or sit on something not reinforced to handle the weight…

Until my body sorts itself out, I can't sleep on an actual bed. I've destroyed one too many beds as it is.

An all-too-familiar refrain from _Mahou Shoujo Naka-chan_ began playing within my handbag. I winced, fishing the phone out. Honestly, I need to get some ringtones of my own, soon. Make the mistake of letting Naka give you ringtones _one_ time…

" _Haruka,_ " a familiar gravel voice greeted me when I answered the call.

I straightened. "Admiral?"

" _Where are you?_ "

That was probably a rhetorical question, as I'm sure there's a tracker in my phone. "We just left the convention center and are on our way back to my quarters, sir. Is there a situation?" The Admiral wouldn't contact me directly, otherwise.

" _Yes. A couple of Abyssal destroyers have appeared in the bay, and are making a nuisance of themselves, taking potshots at everything and anything. We think they may be testing the waters, to see how we'll respond._

 _I've already sent DesDiv Six to intercept, but… how would you like to be their primary backup, and send the Abyssals the message not to mess with us?_ "

I nodded, even though the Admiral couldn't see it. Oh, and what a message it would be. "I, Yamato, will do my best, sir."

" _Stop the truck!_ " I barked the order, clipping my phone to my uniform's collar and climbing to my feet. One good thing about my body not having adjusted yet is inertia having _far_ less of an influence upon me when, say, an APC screeches to a halt.

Leaping from the back gate caused my feet to punch potholes in the pavement. I'm sure I'll pay for that later… but for now, it's time to get to work. I started running, heading for the beach – did I mention that the road we're taking to the base is a scenic route, less than a kilometer from the bay? – throwing one last request back. "Would you mind delivering my handbag to my quarters? Thank you."

I summoned my rigging as I ran, the massive hull and gun turret mounts attaching, steel locking and bolting into place amidst swirling golden sparkles and the severe _woof_ of displaced air. My parasol popped open, settling into place behind my head as the magic reinforced it with a metal framework reminiscent of my original mast, lengthening the handle so that I could continue to hold it. Finally, I reached the edge of the bridge and, not wanting to waste time, took a flying leap onto the surface of the water a few feet below.

"Yamato, heading out at full steam!"

* * *

I know, you're wondering why the Admiral called me "Haruka," right?

Well, that's my birth name. Kinoshita Haruka.

Okay, so now you're wondering why I'm pretending to be Yamato. I'm not. Not… exactly.

I'm the _reincarnation_ of the Imperial Japanese Navy battleship-spirit Yamato, awakened to my true nature as a _kanmusu_ , or "shipgirl."

…You want me to explain? Fine, I'll give it a shot.

I'm sure you're aware of the Abyssals by now, so I can skip explaining them.

Japan, the U.S., England and others… in trying to combat the Abyssals, were steadily building their fleets of shipgirls, spirits of ships who'd fought in World War II and beyond, summoned in the form of seemingly human girls, who could contend with the Abyssal ships much more readily than conventional forces.

As time passed, quite a few of the more powerful ships, like _Yamato_ , and the USS _Enterprise_ , stubbornly remained unsummoned despite their countries' best efforts.

It was then that they discovered a possible explanation – somehow, some ship-spirits had been reincarnated as regular people. In a few of those cases, surprisingly, the ship-spirit had also _already been summoned_ as a shipgirl, or could still be summoned.

Naturally, the world powers became interested in finding reincarnates, in addition to their summoning efforts – especially after learning that reincarnates were able to be 'awakened,' becoming the shipgirls they were meant to be.

Those reincarnates who had an already-summoned shipgirl counterpart – don't ask me how _that_ worked – formed bonds of resonance with their 'other selves,' accelerating the process considerably.

Physically, an Awakened shipgirl was no different than a summoned counterpart. She could summon her rigging, take to the water and fight, just like any other shipgirl.

The possibilities were encouraging. Here was a way to recruit shipgirls who couldn't be summoned, or have shipgirl duplicates.

As you'd expect, though, there were problems.

Ship-spirits were effectively veteran soldiers, no matter their appearance as shipgirls. A summoned shipgirl was ready and able to serve and fight once again.

A reincarnate, on the other hand, had lived a different life, up to the moment of their Awakening. Few of them were willing to fight. Being a World War II-era heavy cruiser meant little when the girl behind those guns was dead-set against leaping onto the ocean to fight an enemy proven quite capable of shredding the world's regular naval forces.

More time passed, and the search for reincarnates slowed. My dad, being the Japanese consul to Los Angeles… not to mention a big World War II and warship… _enthusiast_ , well aware of my own interest, continued to allow me to hear about whatever shipgirl and summoning effort news crossed his desk.

One afternoon, at the store down the street from our house, I noticed a magazine on the racks that had an artist's rendering of shipgirl Yamato, or rather, how he believed she would appear.

I'll tell you now – that sketch didn't look anything like me. At all.

The entire magazine was speculation, in fact, many readers offering their opinions as to what as-yet unsummoned shipgirls like Yamato and Enterprise would look like, how they would behave.

I bought the magazine and took it home, to read in bed.

For some reason, the speculation about Yamato seemed the most interesting, to me.

One commenter was really getting on my nerves by constantly referring to Yamato as "Hotel Yamato." Maybe I was getting a little _too_ into it; I suddenly felt _very_ dizzy and had to drop back onto my pillow.

A massive migraine slammed into my forehead a moment later.

The next thing I knew, Mom and Dad were shaking me awake – or trying to, given the large amount of steel in the way. My bed had been utterly crushed and mangled by a battleship.

Me.

Thank goodness we don't live in a two-story house.

While I worked on figuring out how to remove the insane array of firepower that was my rigging, Dad was studying both me and my rigging, in fine detail. By the time my shipgirl instincts were kicking in, telling me – and boy, didn't I feel stupid for not considering the magical way of doing things – that I could simply _dismiss_ the rigging, he claimed he knew exactly who I was.

There's no doubt, Dad had said. I was _Yamato_. The reincarnation of the ship-spirit of the IJN battleship, _Yamato_. He went into depth about the metal collar-guard around my neck, stamped with the golden Imperial Seal of Japan, reminiscent of the original _Yamato_ 's bow. How my hull and gun turret configuration exactly matched hers. And… well, a handful of other details that I wasn't _exactly_ paying attention to, because I'll admit I thought I had bigger things to worry about at the moment than technical specs.

Ironically, I guess, I wouldn't learn until a little later that my given name is written using the _exact same kanji_ as "Yamato." Same kanji, different reading. I'd just never thought about it.

Well, since my hardware had stopped being an issue, the police and TV crews weren't barging through the front door, and if I could just get a new bed, I'd still be able to live a normal life, right?

Why can't anyone ever let me have my delusions?

It was impossible. Japan _needed_ shipgirl Yamato, and as much as he wanted to keep me safe, Dad had to inform the higher-ups that his little girl was the reborn and Awakened Yamato.

They had me on a cargo plane to Japan – the only type of plane capable of handling the weight of a newly-battleshipped girl – in less than a day.

Their plan was simple… fake a summoning, then I'd convince everyone I was the summoned version of Yamato. The shipgirls, Japan, the world… needed the morale boost and assurances of strength only Summoned Yamato could provide, right away.

I wanted to do it, though. To help, to fight, now that I had the chance. I'm Yamato; how can I _not_?

So, for the two weeks that followed, they pretty much trained me twenty-four hours a day, in a hidden underground base I don't know how far from Yokosuka, to match their vision of how Summoned Yamato would act. Poise, refinement, acting like a 'proper' lady, nudging my Japanese from "schoolgirl slang" to "polite woman…" and what I considered to be the most important lessons of them all, how to _properly_ use my armament.

For all my power, I can't just infinitely and indiscriminately blast away. My guns require manual reloading. I have to worry about overheating, jamming, propellant buildup, shells exploding within the firing chambers… and even I am not immune to my guns' recoil or being deafened.

Video games make carrying around immense amounts of firepower look _soooo_ easy.

Anyway… obviously, two weeks isn't enough to make me an expert either in being a distinguished lady, or my arsenal. I was to continue my lessons after officially reporting for duty, with the occasional secret meeting to teach me something new and reinforce what I had learned.

Then, it was showtime.

The fake summoning went as planned, and someone – I never learned who – made sure the gossip spread around base that they'd actually managed to summon _Yamato_ , of all kanmusu.

They'd throw an official welcoming ceremony for me the following morning, with all of Yokosuka's shipgirls in attendance.

Oh, right. I almost forgot. The Admiral claims that the reason he addresses me by my birth name in private, is because he's stubborn and wants to remind himself that the 'true' Yamato is still somewhere 'out there,' no matter how much of a big risk I think it is. I'm always worried he'll let it slip to Kongou or Nagato, or something. Not that there's much I can do about it…

* * *

Hibiki frowned.

The best DesDiv Six had managed against the pair of Abyssal destroyers for the past few minutes was effectively trading shots; for Abyssals that were supposedly just testing their reaction, they'd established a decent screen. Thankfully, neither ship had committed any fish to the water.

She found herself wondering why someone hadn't at least assigned a cruiser or better to help them poke the Abyssals.

Even worse, she thought, as she swung into a hard left turn to dodge an enemy volley, the two I-Class destroyers were also beginning to pour their stifling black smog into the air. As if she wasn't already having problems keeping her sisters in sight.

"Everyone, back off a bit!" she heard Akatsuki yell.

"What?" From Ikazuchi. "We can't _let_ them put up that smoke!"

"I know! But there's something coming in very, very fast to port!"

"Is it our backup, nanodesu?"

" _Shh_!"

Hibiki fought the urge to lower her face into her palms. Wouldn't Akatsuki's warning have already let the Abyssals know something was approaching? And if it was enemy backup… they were able to ID their own ships, she was sure.

After another tense moment of dodging fire, Ikazuchi blurted, "No way! They sent _her_ to be our backup!?"

"Who?" Hibiki asked, concerned, uttering her first word of the battle.

An absolutely thunderous report pealed, and suddenly, ninety percent of the first Abyssal _ceased to exist_ , leaving the remainder to crumble and sink miserably into the bay.

Oh. _Her_.

The second Abyssal destroyer visibly panicked at the sight of Yamato bearing down upon her at full steam, and turned tail, swinging about in a wide arc in an effort to avoid the battleship's brutal salvos.

Alas, Yamato's follow-up volley clipped the hapless Abyssal, spinning her wildly about even while tearing her apart.

"…Whoa."

Why was _Yamato_ here? Pitting a battleship of her caliber against a couple of delinquent Abyssal destroyers was extreme overkill!

Yamato was in the process of composing herself as the destroyers of DesDiv Six rotated into position around her, the battleship shifting the handle of her ever-present metal-reinforced ship's parasol to shield herself from the afternoon sun, long fall of now-windblown chestnut hair sliding just _so_ perfectly back into place… her practiced motions triggering a small, girlish squeal from Akatsuki.

…Akatsuki, who had clearly begun to idolize Yamato in her quest to become something of a refined, elegant woman.

And yet… Yamato had relaxed, yes, though she nonchalantly kept the bulk of her guns trained toward the mouth of the bay. Had anyone else noticed?

"No one is injured, I take it?" Yamato asked, casting a quick appraising glance across the four of them.

"Ha!" crowed Ikazuchi. "It'll take more than that just to _scratch_ DesDiv Six!"

Hibiki shook her head at her sister's attempt to show off. Never mind that it would take several washes to get the smell of that damned Abyssal smog out of their uniforms.

"Yamato-sempai," she finally voiced the question on her mind, evenly. "Why were you sent as our backup? Does the Admiral still believe there may be more enemies out there, watching us?"

Each of her sisters gasped at the revelation. They hadn't known?

"Yes. Hopefully, that is not the case… however, if they are, the Admiral wanted to send them the message… not to mess with us."

"Ah." That made sense. Now that Yamato was part of the fleet, who better to send that sort of message?

The cellphone clipped to Yamato's collar tweedled, and the speed at which the elder shipgirl had it in her hand, open and unlocked, amazed Hibiki. Yamato hadn't been summoned that long, and already was that experienced with a phone?

"Our relief should be here at any minute. Until then, we will hold this position," Yamato stated, preparing two of her Mitsubishi F1M2 seaplanes. If anything was out there, she would know…

* * *

" _I am afraid that I cannot comment on my deployments. However, I, Yamato, assure you that we are doing everything within our power to end the Abyssals' reign of terror. The Abyssals shall not win."_

With the press of a single button on his remote, Admiral Treston freeze-framed the video feed – in mid-translation, the abrupt end of a closed-caption subtitle glitching as the frame flickered back and forth – and raised the light levels back to normal. He slammed the presentation tool to the table before him, glaring at the four other men seated in the meeting hall. "We have _failed_ , gentlemen."

"No," Treston snapped, to silence all protests. "The Japanese have accomplished what we have not, and that is to recover their most prominent and powerful ship, as a shipgirl. Yamato," he said, sweeping a hand toward the on-screen image of the shipgirl in question.

"We, however… We cannot even summon anything above cruiser level. This must not be allowed to continue, gentlemen."

"If you have a way of contacting _Enterprise_ and telling her she's needed ASAP, along with all of our battleships, then by all means share it with us," the officer to his left groused.

" _Not_ good enough! I refuse to believe that the entire process is wholly dependent upon sheer luck! The Japanese managed to summon their best, right when she was needed the most. They must be doing _something_ other than merely rolling the dice and hoping everything turns out okay!"

He paced angrily around the conference table. "I do not deny that we have, and are building, a powerful fleet of shipgirls. But! The American public _wants_ to know that its biggest and most powerful ships are defending them. They want to hear that our fleets are out there, tearing through the Abyssals like so much wet paper!"

Yamato's face remained on-screen, unmoving. "I'm sure it won't be long before we start to hear news of Yamato's victories and accomplishments. They know not to pass up such opportunities – their opinion poll scores have gone through the roof since Yamato was summoned! On this side of the Pacific, in the meantime, our people are growing restless."

"The President–"

"What about the President?" Treston asked. "He doesn't believe this issue is all that crucial. But then, he doesn't seem to be aware that the public believes he's not interested in committing to what needs to be done."

"That's crazy! It was _his_ idea to try summoning with him present, calling and then ordering Enterprise to duty."

"Yes, well… go ahead and say it. We've tried everything."

The Admiral sat heavily in his chair. "I'm sure we haven't. There's probably a _lot_ of things we haven't tried. We just need to find what works _now_." He cast a long, silent stare at the image of Yamato, her resolve clear. "If we can't summon even one large ship – _Enterprise_ , a battleship, anything – we may have to look at the possibility of… of _creating_ our own Enterprise, somehow."

* * *

Author's Notes: I adapted the reincarnation mechanics from D. M. Ash's _Mystery of the Reincarnated Shiratsuyu-class_ ( _The Fairies' Toybox_ ), which was in turn adapted from what was used in the _A Burning Legacy_ quest on the Sufficient Velocity forums.

Special thanks to D. M. Ash and Jason M. Lee for all their help.

* * *

OMAKE: Livin' It Up At the Hotel Yamato

I peered over Naka's shoulder at her screen while she highlighted the relevant text in the article. "See? The wikis and historical archive sites all agree. Your living quarters were extravagant, for the time." She wheeled about in her chair to face me, a knowing grin on her face. "Your faeries must be _so_ spoiled."

"N-nonsense!" I tried to scoff. "I, Yamato, do not think–"

Wordlessly, Naka gestured to my belly, where one of my faeries was peeking out, her wet hair bundled up in a towel. Noticing my stare, the tiny faerie offered me a thumbs-up. " _Desu_!"

"H-hey…"


	2. Sisters

I don't get it.

Whenever someone comments about shipgirl meals or appetites, they usually end up mentioning Akagi. You've probably heard the jokes – or seen that weird simple Flash animation someone posted last week where a super-deformed Akagi eats _everything_ in her path, ending with the world, before moving on to other planets.

People expect to see her name at the top of the shipgirl food-consumption lists.

But to be honest, Akagi's meals aren't _that_ much larger than an average shipgirl meal, that I've seen. She'll eat more than three meals a day, yes… not that that's unusual for a shipgirl, either.

A shipgirl will eat for the same reasons as anyone else – she's hungry, and wants food. We also use the food to help the repair, refueling and resupply processes along, which is one of the reasons you'll often see shipgirls eating massive meals.

I've heard someone's even recommending ultra-greasy, high-carb foods, because our bodies can actually put it to good use rather than let it go to all the wrong places.

Bleah. Thanks, but I'd like to think I still have some sense of taste. I mean, I'm used to the fact that I'm eating quite a bit more now, and the only thing I have to worry about is maintaining the 'proper young lady' act while I do so. And, I'm used to being aware that I can _also_ eat 'raw' metals and ores, and drink ship fuel and oil if necessary.

That doesn't translate into me wandering into the mess hall and piling four or more of everything on my tray, though.

Across the table, Akagi tore her gaze from her food long enough to shoot me a glance. If she was at all nervous or bothered about me standing nearby, eating at a more sedate and 'ladylike' pace, she didn't show it.

" _There_ she is!" I heard someone shout from the entrance to the mess – and before I'd finished asking myself _hey, wait, don't I recognize that voice?_ , I was flanked by a pair of destroyers.

The indigo-haired young girl, who had made an effort to reign her unruly hair in with an IJN blue-cotton sailor's cap, plopped into the seat to my left with an audible _squee_ , at which I raised an eyebrow. Her sister, who had equally unruly short brown hair – a trait the _Akatsuki_ sisters shared – tied in a low ponytail, quietly took the chair to my right.

"Ah, Akatsuki, Inazuma. Good evening." I nodded to both of them in turn. Many of the destroyers on-base had begun acting more at ease around me, after the outing where I'd served as backup for DesDiv Six.

Akatsuki alternated between staring at my tray, and Akagi's surprisingly moderately larger stack of food, as if trying to parse something, then set it aside. "Have they given you any new orders to head out, yet?" she asked, eagerly, the "and can we go, too?" half of the question clearly waiting to be asked.

"We have seen very little enemy activity lately, so it is hard to say." A lull could well mean the Abyssals were amassing their strength for a major offensive… or not. Best not to worry Inazuma and Akatsuki about possibilities like that, however, certainly not at this time. Tenryuu might have my head for that. "The Admiral has also requested, in the meantime, that I work as an aide in his office alongside Nagato and Mutsu."

Another glance from Akagi; she can probably guess the reasons _why_ those three would recommend the job.

Akatsuki was pouting. "But that's _boring_. Right, Inazuma?"

"Uh…"

"See? She thinks so, too!"

I don't doubt that she'd find I've been mostly sidelined even more boring.

Of all warships, it's the battleships that require the most resources to operate and field – a fact that doesn't really change all that much when a battleship becomes a shipgirl.

 _My_ operating cost estimates are the highest this base has ever seen, currently set at over twice Nagato and her sister's requirements. Hopefully, that'll change once my body finally decides to sort itself out.

I know, I know. Wishful thinking. Remember what I said about letting me have my delusions?

Before I arrived, the _Nagato_ -class ships required the most resources among the base's shipgirls. Admiral Goto hadn't been sure whether or not he could field them all that often, either. To keep herself busy – and because we mostly only use those specific resources when operating as ships – Nagato suggested she take up the role of the Admiral's secretary, with Mutsu acting as an aide, both only deploying when necessary.

Nagato believed that allowing me to sit on the sidelines doing nothing was more dangerous than it would be for her. Maybe she's right, I don't know.

She also believes that the politicians won't let me remain sidelined for long, that they'll likely come up with _some_ way to cover my operating costs. I'm not sure I like the sound of that… no way will I let the people of Japan be stuck with extra taxes just so I can be deployed.

So… I'm officially now Admiral Goto's second aide. Or third, depending upon how you want to classify Nagato.

Almost as though she were somehow aware I was thinking about her, my phone chose that moment to ring, playing the ringtone I'd set for Nagato's contact – one of the factory-loaded songs; I'm debating whether or not to be annoying and set it to one of Naka's. "Excuse me, please. I must answer this."

"Hello?"

" _Yamato?_ " Nagato asked, her voice sounding strangely deeper over the phone than it did in person. " _Where are you?_ "

Doesn't anyone ever check the tracker in my phone? "I am at the mess hall. Why do you ask?"

" _…Never mind,_ " she said after a beat. " _I wanted to inform you that we've convinced the Admiral to try another summoning, after the success he had with yours. He believes you should be there when we attempt it, in one hour._ "

"I do not believe my presence would change all that much." The extent of my knowledge of Shinto rites and rituals is whatever I learned while participating in my own summon ceremony. What can I possibly do to influence something like that?

" _With a summoning? You might be surprised. Oh, and also, we're supposed to be getting a new recruit tomorrow morning. I haven't received any information on her other than her name, Miyamoto Misa… because apparently, the shipgirls over at Sasebo managed to bring down their entire computer network, somehow, and they're being tight-lipped about the whole thing. So, Miyamoto will be bringing her paper file here. They said she's looking forward to working with you._ "

Really? Huh. I wonder what kind of person she is. "Very well," I concluded. "Inform the Admiral that I, Yamato, will be there."

I could have sworn I heard Nagato snort a laugh before she dropped the call.

My "I, Yamato" quirk? That's more my invention than anyone else's; it just felt _right_ , and my behavior coach told me to run with it. An aspect of my previous self filtering through, she'd said.

It does tend to make me sound a bit… imperious, but I think people expect that of me, as such a high-profile Imperial battleship. As long as I don't actually start acting snobbish, or looking down upon anyone, I should be fine.

Akatsuki _hmm_ ed. "You're gonna go see the Admiral? Maybe they're giving you a mission after all."

"I will be there as an aide," I reminded her. Inazuma giggled at the sour look that briefly crossed her sister's face.

Well, Nagato never said I had to keep the summoning a secret… but maybe, it's better not to get anyone's hopes up, in the event the ceremony fails. After all, if it's using _my_ summoning as inspiration…

Let's see… It'll take me about twenty to thirty minutes to reach the docks. If I could get the APC this late in the evening, less – though I'd rather walk. They keep the streets brightly-lit, and nobody's foolish enough to try assaulting a shipgirl on-base.

In my old neighborhood, no matter how safe people claimed it was, I'd always been paranoid about being out after dark. It's a nice change.

But, I've got to get going. I pushed my tray toward Akagi. "If you do not mind," I said, offering her a small smile.

* * *

"Ah, Yamato," the Admiral greeted as I joined the group waiting at the end of the pier – and for a second, I wondered if he had been about to use my _other_ name. "You're early. Glad you could join us."

I nodded sharply. "Sir."

"Actually, now that you're here, we can go ahead and begin the ceremony."

A robed Shinto priest was only now laying down the last few lines of the complex runic summoning circle drawn entirely in chalk.

How readily had the Admiral agreed to do this? Nagato and Mutsu couldn't know that the only reason the last ceremony was 'successful,' was because we had rigged it. Admiral Goto had carefully arranged for both sisters to be off-base on business at the time.

Did that mean this ceremony was doomed to fail?

No. I must not think that. I have to believe it will work.

I took a position behind the sisters, their gunmetal-gray business suits again making me feel a little self-conscious, as the closest – and only – outfit I have resembling dress clothes, is my shipgirl uniform, with its mismatched stockings. I still have to get around to buying some new clothes; my Awakening caused me to outgrow everything I had. I wouldn't have been able to bring any of it here, anyway.

While Nagato impassively watched the priests and our Admiral make their final preparations, Mutsu seemed a touch restless, to the point of almost trying to start a conversation with me, twice. C'mon, I'm not _that_ difficult to talk to, am I?

The four priests took their positions, two to the left and right of the summoning circle, kneeling upon the parallel dock paths, and began a low chant.

I focused my entire attention on the circle as the lines slowly started to glow, tracing each pathway as if completing a circuit. The Admiral stood four feet from the circle, a strand of prayer beads wrapped tightly around his right hand – though if he said anything, I didn't hear it, trying to push my strength, faith, confidence, whatever I could think to add to the summoning. Whether or not that would actually work, well… I believed I had to at least _try_.

A… pressure built in the air. Wind stirred, swirled. The chanting intensified. I ignored it, gritting my teeth. This summoning had to, _must_ work!

Thick mist was everywhere all at once, causing my low-visibility measures to automatically kick in. We were almost at the ceremony's climax, I knew.

Both the chanting and roar of the miniature hurricane continued to grow in volume and strength, enough so that Mutsu and Nagato were just barely beginning to be pushed toward me.

The Admiral remained rooted in place, untouched by everything the ceremony had thrown at us. I'd meant to ask him about that…

Then, abruptly, the winds died, the fog dissipated, and the water below the docks stopped churning, leaving the evening utterly serene. My eyes struggled to adjust.

Someone was standing where the summoning circle had been. Wait – it worked? The summoning had _worked_?

"Yo," the newcomer said. I felt my jaw drop. That voice…

 _I_ _ **know**_ _her._

Brown hair bleached almost-platinum, tied in a wild style that gave her twin tails and wings.

Serious, reddish-brown eyes watching all from behind a pair of thin-rimmed glasses.

Excessively bronzed skin. The same build as I, her own bust reigned in only by an improvised cloth-bandage sarashi and a loosely-worn vest.

The Imperial Seal of Japan, stamped in gold upon our bows… both as ships, and now, as shipgirls.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," she continued. "I heard my sister was here, and–"

I surged past everyone, voice heavy. " _Musashi?_ "

She caught me, then, wrapping her arms tightly around me in a bear hug, and lifted me into the air. Behind me, I could just hear Mutsu consoling her sister, who was moaning something about " _two Yamato_ -class ships!?" But, I didn't care. Not now.

My sister had returned!

Musashi lowered me to the ground, resting her head against mine. "Don't ever go off on your own, again, you hear me?"

"It was not your fault," I finally managed to say. "They… they sank you."

She moved me to arm's length. "Me?" she snorted, adopting an exaggerated haughtiness. "Never! I, Musashi, am _unsinkable_!"

I had to laugh at that.

The sound of someone deliberately clearing his throat shook us from our reunion, reminding us that we had an audience. Musashi and I snapped to attention. "Sir!"

"Battleship _Musashi_ , reporting for duty," added Musashi, as the Admiral positioned himself before us.

"Welcome back to the fleet, Musashi," he acknowledged. "I am Admiral Goto, the commanding officer of this base."

Musashi couldn't resist a smirk, it seemed. I gaped. "Glad to be back. What are your orders, sir?" she inquired.

"Nothing for tonight, but I want you to report to my office at thirteen-hundred… right?" The latter, directed at Nagato for confirmation. She nodded. "At thirteen-hundred tomorrow afternoon for an official briefing."

He met my gaze. "Yamato… take your sister home. And… good work."

"But… I did not do anything, sir," I protested. Nothing that appeared to be giving results, at any rate. What had he meant by that?

"Don't forget, Yamato." Somewhere along the line, Nagato had regained her composure, and was back in all-business mode. She, the Admiral, and Mutsu were preparing to leave. "We're scheduled to meet the new recruit in the morning."

Musashi, meanwhile, was raising an eyebrow. "You're working as an aide?"

I sighed.

* * *

"Oh, definitely. I can get you an appointment with the tailor that handles our dress suits," Nagato remarked, casting a critical eye over me as we continued to wait for Miyamoto's transport, on a sidewalk that thankfully, was well within the shade. " _And_ help you get some actual bras, unlike those shell casings you think no one's noticed you're wearing."

Believe me, Nagato, I _know_ people have noticed them. My _mom_ has noticed them. The instructors tutoring me in secret have noticed them. It's just… not easy to find underwear tailored to battleship proportions at a moment's notice.

See, when I Awoke, I'd found myself wearing a strapless bra formed from full-size Type 91 armor-piercing shell caps underneath my uniform. They're padded, inside, and the contact points have been removed, but… it does tend to draw a _lot_ of attention to that area. As if becoming a shipgirl hadn't already caused my entire body to grow considerably…

Strange as it may sound, a shipgirl's breasts are a spiritual link to – and representation of – her ship's engines. The better and more powerful the engines… Um. You get the general idea.

This 'shell bra' isn't part of my normal armor, so I'm not sure why I have it. Musashi definitely doesn't have anything like it. The thing did come with my uniform, however, so there's gotta be a reason for it.

"These are the clothes I wore when I was summoned," I stated. "I have nothing else." Even though we both knew that, I still felt it needed to be said.

"Yes, I'm aware of that." Nagato waved one hand dismissively. "And that going without that so-called bra would be worse."

She stared at me, again. "I have difficulty picturing you using a sarashi, like your sister does." Is that good, or bad? "What _is_ Musashi up to this morning, come to think of it?"

I turned my attention to the scenery. "She is settling in, in her quarters, I believe. We had to wait until this morning to get her a key from the office." Pause. "Either that, or she may have headed to the mess for breakfast."

Beside me, Nagato twitched.

Last night, the first thing Musashi had wanted to do once we were alone was get something to eat, so I'd taken her to the mess, where she'd loaded her tray with enough food to put an Akagi Special to shame. Can she possibly be hungry after all that, plus seconds?

An APC rolled into the plaza, neither of us missing the way the truck's suspension rode close to the ground. "You don't suppose that's her, do you?" Nagato asked, absently.

Is Miyamoto a shipgirl?

We jogged to the rear of the APC as it ground to a halt, Nagato just a little faster than me. By the time I joined her, Nagato's left eye had developed a considerable twitch.

Climbing over the truck's rear gate, was Musashi.

She'd been in her quarters when I left, less than an hour ago! There's no way she could leave the base and find a ride back in – _oh_.

 _This_ Musashi wore a just-barely oversized T-shirt and bra, and was carrying a couple of large suitcases.

I found my voice. "Miyamoto… Misa-san?"

She smiled, and bowed to me. "As expected of Yamato-sama. You recognized who I am, right away," she said, in Musashi's voice.

Nagato and I shared a quick incredulous look.

"And you must be Nagato-san, correct?" Rather than wait for a reply, Misa rummaged through the outer pocket of one of her suitcases for a file folder, pushing it into Nagato's hands. "They said I had to give that to you in person, on account of their network being down. And no, I had nothing to do with… whatever they did to break it. I was just passing through."

Nagato finished her quick scan of the files. "So, you're a shipgirl reincarnate, who Awakened about five days ago? Interesting. You're the first I have had a chance to meet."

Well, no. But no way am I telling her that.

"Umm… thanks." Misa was blushing ever so slightly.

"What they say is true, then? You're physically identical to Musashi. If we hadn't known you were on your way here, we might have thought she was trying to play some sort of joke on us."

Misa froze. "Musashi… is here?"

"Yes," Nagato replied, matter-of-factly. "She was summoned last night."

"…Oh." I'm guessing she hadn't anticipated having to explain herself to her counterpart anytime soon. I've been avoiding thinking about how I may someday have to do the same thing. And… oh, _frag_. I might even be the one that convinces her to return. What if we hadn't summoned Musashi last night, but _Yamato_?

No. I can't let myself get worked up over what-ifs. I've known from the start that if she does return, the only thing I can do is hope she – and everyone else – forgives me.

"I wasn't really anybody special," Misa was saying. "Just yet another student. And a cosplayer, but that's it."

"'Cosplayer?'" I echoed. Oh, I know what _cosplay_ is… but as Yamato, who's barely watched any TV, and whose only exposure to popular culture has been through Naka?

"Cosplaying is… basically, it's dressing up like a favorite character or popular person, for an event or contest." Misa drew a few digital photo printouts from her suitcase's outer pocket for us to examine. "That's me, when I was playing as Naka-san, a few months ago."

She'd been somewhere close to Naka's height, if the pictures were any indication, with an almost elfin face, short dark brown hair and glasses. To have to go from that to Musashi's proportions…

Misa's copy of Naka's uniform was perfect, as far as I could tell. Did she special-order it, or spend who knows how long copying it from Naka's television appearances?

She had also managed a passable homemade copy of Naka's rigging. Had Naka ever worn her rigging for any of her appearances?

"In fact, I was originally planning to go to WonFes dressed as you, Yamato-sama."

"Dressed as… me?" I asked, surprised, trying to imagine pre-Awakening Misa wearing a smaller version of my uniform and rigging.

"Yeah. I'd almost finished the costume when I… changed," Misa grumbled, raising her arms and glancing down at herself. "It was completely shredded."

"Anyway, after I figured out what was going on, we called the nearest naval base – Sasebo – and they picked me up, assuring my parents I'd be okay.

At Sasebo, they told me everything they know about shipgirl reincarnates, and that they believed I was Musashi reincarnated. I decided I wanted to join up, and asked to be sent here." She offered us another bow. "Please take care of me."

Nagato's twitch was barely noticeable, this time. "Okay. We'll get you settled in… and you should probably sit in on Musashi's briefing in the Admiral's office at thirteen hundred." She wheeled to face me, jabbing a finger toward my chest with enough intensity that I backed away a step. "But in the meantime, _you_ , Yamato, get to handle introducing Misa to Musashi."

Joy. Somebody, sink me now… please?

* * *

Author's notes: For the purposes of this story, the idea that a shipgirl's breasts are an indicator of or reference to her ship's engines/engine power, as suggested by the _Unryuu_ sisters' artist, is 'canon.' Yes, I'm aware that one of Atago's in-game lines implies her breasts are her fuel tanks, but given that her fuel requirements aren't _that_ considerable, especially compared to larger ships with a "smaller" chest, I'm not sure if I want to assume that's necessarily true (for Atago, or for all shipgirls).

At the moment, I have no ETA for chapter three, as there are a few details I need to establish.


	3. The Rival

I glared at the mound that was one of my sisters, hidden almost completely underneath her blankets, save for a lone, bare foot poking out at the end of the futon.

"I cannot believe you thought it was a good idea to take her to a _bar_."

No response.

"You do realize," I persisted, "that working in the Admiral's office means I get to see the damage reports and complaints when they arrive."

Actually, I'm fairly sure Nagato would send me the information, regardless, as it involved Musashi and Misa.

That earned me a groan. "…go 'way, 'Mato. Head hurts."

I could hear Misa's groans from her quarters, on the opposite side of mine, as if Musashi had been loud enough to aggravate _her_ hangover. For all I know about shipgirl alcohol tolerances, and getting drunk in general… maybe Musashi _was_.

At least Misa now had Musashi's tolerances… for whatever little good it was doing either of them, at the moment.

It had been an uphill battle, to be sure. First, in getting Musashi to accept that yes, shipgirl reincarnates existed, even at the same time as their 'former selves.' Then, trying to get her to stop griping that her 'future self' was "a mousy little girl who likes dressing up like other shipgirls."

The building manager had thought to use my quarters as a buffer to separate them… but the war continued, both of them bickering across the hallway from their doors – or in one case, through the doorways connecting our quarters' main rooms.

For the better part of an evening. The same voice, on both sides of the argument. Seriously.

When I woke the following morning, they were still asleep… so, I hurriedly swapped my pajamas for my shipgirl uniform, and left for the office before hostilities could be renewed.

It wasn't until later that afternoon that I learned they had apologized to each other around the time I'd managed to fall asleep, and were now, supposedly, best buddies.

Musashi's new pet project? To help Misa become 'a better Musashi,' whatever that meant.

Apparently, it included a night of bar-hopping.

I can only imagine what people thought when my sisters walked into that bar. Or, what led to the destruction of four barstools – Misa and Musashi _know_ they can't sit on unreinforced chairs, yet – two tables, a dartboard, a pool table and the hanging lamp above it. And one broken arm.

Guess the story will have to wait until they're a little less hung-over. The reports weren't much more than itemized lists.

Sighing quietly, for Musashi's benefit, I decided to head out for a walk.

The day had started out great, too. Mainly because my body had finally, _finally_ finished sorting itself out.

I took a seat on the bench outside our barracks, enjoying the fact that the bench _didn't_ crumple underneath me.

At last, I can ride in something _other_ than an APC. Go flying in more than just cargo planes, if I want. Yeah!

I can have a bed, again. I've already submitted the forms. Nagato gave me an odd look, but it'll be worth it.

Heck, I can go bike-riding. Can you imagine that? A big battleship like me, riding a ten-speed?

My phone began to play the first few bars of a now _very_ familiar ringtone.

Nagato. Of course.

In case you're wondering, no, I haven't set her contact to use any of the ringtones Naka gave me. Yet.

I pulled my phone from its pouch, and tapped the _Answer Call_ button. "…Hello?"

" _Yamato, we need you here in the office as soon as possible._ "

"Why?" Nagato's tone certainly _sounded_ urgent. I doubt she'd have called if it was just something like the bar owner adding more charges to the list of damages.

" _We just received a call from a Captain Meyers, from Naval Base San Diego. He is planning to pay us an unscheduled visit today, for fact-finding purposes._ " She hesitated. " _He… claims he is also bringing Enterprise with him._ "

I was too stunned to reply for a moment. "Enterprise, as in the shipgirl? USS _Enterprise_? _That_ Enterprise?"

" _Yes._ "

"But, that does not make sense! If the Americans had managed to summon Enterprise, or found her reincarnate, we would surely have heard about it by now." Enterprise consistently ranked highest on the list of shipgirls the people of the United States wanted to summon. Assuming they _had_ succeeded in summoning Enterprise, then, why would they hide that fact from the public? Were they planning to surprise the Abyssals?

" _We do have our suspicions as well, but we can't automatically assume Captain Meyers is lying about Enterprise, for any reason. Now, he has specifically requested that you be present, so the sooner you get here, the better._ " As an aide, I was expected to be at the Admiral's side when greeting visiting officers, anyway.

Wonderful. With the way my day is turning out, the guy'll probably want to arrange a war-games grudge match. Yamato vs. Enterprise.

* * *

"Welcome to Yokosuka Naval Base, Captain Meyers," the Admiral greeted, as the Captain disembarked from the rear of his APC and strode toward us, his interpreter straining to keep pace. "I am Admiral Goto; this is my secretary, Nagato, and my aides, Mutsu and Yamato."

I noticed the Captain's raised eyebrow at the mention of my name, but said nothing, inclining my head as Nagato and Mutsu had during their introductions. What, a battleship can't work as an Admiral's aide in her spare time?

For some reason, the man's weathered face gave me the impression he wouldn't have a problem passing himself off as a teacher at my high school. Thinning, short brown hair, bluish-gray eyes framed by crow's feet… eyes that were fixed upon me, studying me.

The Admiral had to have noticed it, as well. "Captain? I believe you stated you were bringing Enterprise with you?"

Thank you, Admiral.

I saw a hint of what I thought might be reluctance flash through Meyers' eyes, right before he turned to stare at the APC – which, I'd idly noted as it entered the plaza, hadn't shown any of the tell-tale signs it was carrying a recently-summoned or Awakened shipgirl. "Ah… yes." He raised his voice. "Would you mind joining us, my dear?"

A blonde-haired young woman wearing an abbreviated naval officer's uniform that showed her bare midriff, and cut-offs, warily descended the ramp.

Her rigging was that of an aircraft carrier, flight deck strapped to her left arm.

Suspicious blue eyes surveyed Mutsu, Nagato and I, in turn, before settling on the Admiral.

 _This_ was supposed to be Enterprise? Whoever she was, she _wasn't_ a shipgirl…

Nagato was furious. "What are you trying to pull?" she hissed, gesturing to the blonde, who was now nervous rather than wary. "That is _not_ Enterprise. She isn't even a shipgirl!"

"You… you can tell?" the Captain asked, resignedly.

The Admiral's expression hardened. Mutsu and I tensed, taking it as a signal to be prepared for anything. "A shipgirl can tell the difference between a normal human and another shipgirl, yes," he said slowly, giving the interpreter a chance to catch up before beginning his explanation.

Physical traits aren't always a reliable way to determine whether or not someone is a shipgirl. People can probably easily tell I'm a shipgirl, even without recognizing me as Yamato; I'm unusually tall, with something of an Amazonian build, and a conspicuously large chest. You have to be quite strong to carry _my_ rigging around with little effort.

But if, say, Fubuki swapped her uniform for a 'normal' dress and shoes? Without her rigging, only a shipgirl would be able to tell she wasn't an ordinary human girl on sight alone.

Spiritually, a shipgirl can recognize another shipgirl by nature of being able to see the other girl's ship-self – the ships we originally were, visible as a sort of hazy image behind us and off to the side, that you can choose to bring into focus.

That was why shipgirls often found it difficult to sit through Naka's performances… we can't watch Naka sing and dance, or act in whatever television or movie roles they try to give her, without _also_ seeing the _Naka_ behind her, wearing the same costumes and makeup, executing the same moves.

Our would-be Enterprise doesn't have a ship-self. Or, hopefully without sounding insulting, the type of body you'd expect an aircraft carrier shipgirl to have, if our carriers – and their engines – are any indication.

The blonde was removing her fake rigging, setting it in a pile in the back of the truck.

"Why go to this much trouble, though? If you wanted to… test your false Enterprise, couldn't you have simply asked the girls at San Diego?"

"I really was sent here on a fact-finding mission," answered Meyers. "This is something they ordered both of us to do at the last minute."

"Who are you, really?" Mutsu asked the blonde, who had rejoined the group.

"Irene Hawke, Lieutenant, also from San Diego." Irene pulled her name tag, which read 'HAWKE, I.,' from a pocket, and pinned it in its proper place on her makeshift shipgirl uniform. "But not for much longer, I'm sure."

I blinked. "You can speak Japanese?" I wasn't sure if I was supposed to be able to speak English, as Yamato. Being pleasantly surprised a visitor from the U.S. could speak my native language was a safer option than potentially discovering after the fact I'm not supposed to know English.

"Only enough that I don't _completely_ sound like a stereotypical foreigner. I rarely get to use it, however, aside from translating anime for friends, or whatever."

Nagato pulled me aside. "Yamato, I want you to show Lieutenant Hawke around the base while we resolve matters here. Just the scenic route."

Translation: go sightseeing, keep her away from anything remotely important. And if she tries something… you're capable enough to handle it, Yamato.

Irene fell in behind me, resigning herself to the care of her new tour guide. "Let's get going, then. I'm sure you've got a lot to show me, Yamato-san."

Why, no. She's not bitter at all.

* * *

The 'sightseeing tour' quickly degenerated into the two of us wandering from street to street, in an uncomfortable silence.

"For the record," Irene stated at last, "what I did was sign up for an experimental program that was trying to help us ordinary soldiers fight like shipgirls, so we could take on the Abyssals alongside you."

I didn't think that was a good idea, and said as much. "Even if you have something that allows you to float on water, you would still need a _lot_ of armor to withstand an Abyssal attack."

"And we would either sink right away due to the weight, or be knocked into the water, the first time we're hit. Right."

She growled. "I just… want to help fight them, you know? Feel like I'm doing something, instead of sitting around and relying on other people."

"I, Yamato, can appreciate that," I nodded. "What about your rigging?"

"The harness, you mean? The Project created a few different versions of those. Their weapons work, for the most part, but the frames start becoming too heavy to lift once you add ammo." She glanced down at her boots, most likely copied from one of the San Diego shipgirls. "We'll never have a way to walk on water like you guys, anyway, I'm sure."

Privately, that thought eased my worry a bit. I fought to keep everyone safe. A battle with the Abyssals was definitely _not_ safe, even for a shipgirl.

But we are soldiers, and the only ones who can match the Abyssals on open waters. We have to fight, and risk being sunk once again.

The more people – shipgirl, regular human, _anyone_ – I can save from that fate, the better!

"I never anticipated being ordered to use the harnesses to trick anyone into believing I was Enterprise."

Can I believe that? Let's see… "I have heard that the people of your country really want Enterprise to be summoned. Perhaps that is what they eventually intended to do with you," I suggested.

The Lieutenant froze, eyes widening. "But… that'd mean everyone would expect me to fight _as_ Enterprise! With a useless harness, and complete inability to walk on water!" Overwhelmed, she lurched to the nearest bench and sat down heavily. "They told me the order came from somewhere near the top. Maybe even the Admiral, himself, but I can't believe he'd sign off on a plan _this_ irresponsible."

"I am sure no one would let it get that far."

She stared at me, and scoffed. I could almost see her bite back a _don't be naïve, Yamato._ "Of _course_ they would. The brass wants Enterprise and the battleships far above and beyond what the people do."

I forced myself not to shudder. Without the benefit of an actual version of Yamato, might they have done something similar, here in Japan?

Suddenly, I really didn't feel like thinking about it anymore than she did. Time for a change of subject. "…The cliff that overlooks the bay is at the end of this road. Would you like to take a look?"

"Oh, what the hell," she said, after staring at me again for a moment, and pulled herself to her feet. "Gotta actually sightsee at some point on this trip, I guess."

We followed the road as it curved toward the base of the 'cliff,' which was in reality just a section of land that formed an overhang ten or so feet above the bay. People liked heading up there to relax, watch the sunset – or shipgirl training maneuvers, whichever happened first.

About seven minutes later, the well-worn dirt trail led us out of the trees. Irene and I walked to the edge of the cliff… just in time to see every Abyssal in the bay turn to face us and open fire.

Reacting on instinct, I pushed the Lieutenant to the ground as gently as I could manage, shouting, "Get down!" That done, I dropped – but not quickly enough, as a few rounds slammed into my left shoulder.

" _Yamato!_ "

I grabbed my shoulder, hissing in pain, and pivoted at the last moment to avoid landing on my arm.

Breathe. In, out. In, out. "I am okay," I told her, pulling my hand away to show her the unbroken skin underneath. "It did not come close to penetrating my armor. However, being shot still hurts."

"I'll bet," remarked Irene, staring nervously at the scorch marks on my shoulder and uniform breast.

The Abyssal fire intensified. "We cannot stay here," I indicated, reaching for my phone. "If they bring down the overhang, we will fall with it."

"Plus, you can't fight them as long as you're babysitting me."

I chose to speed-dial Nagato's number, rather than reply.

" _Yamato? Where are–_ "

"We are on the cliff overlooking the bay. An Abyssal force has us pinned down."

Nagato's voice, unsurprisingly, remained level. " _Kongou and Kirishima are sortieing with a response force now. Have you been able to identify the Abyssals and their number?_ "

"I am not completely sure, but I believe there were at least four To-class cruisers and six Ro-class destroyers."

" _I'll pass on the information. Yamato, I'm sure I don't need to remind you of this, but your first priority is to keep Lieutenant Hawke safe. Do not engage until after you get her to safety._ "

 _Click._

What, did she think I would abandon the Lieutenant here, and leap into battle?

"We have a force incoming, that should be here within minutes," I informed Irene. "Do you think we can make it to the treeline?"

She yelped as Abyssal fire wrenched away another section of the rock a little over a foot to her right. "Yeah, maybe."

"Have confidence. We can do it."

"Says the shipgirl with thick armor."

We began edging backward, in the direction of the trees. "I, Yamato, will not let you be hurt," I tried to reassure her.

Irene smirked. "You do remember it was your idea to head up here in the first place, right, Yamato?"

In no time, we were among the trees, and dug in to wait.

Kongou's voice filtered up to us nearly three minutes later. "Hey! You Abyssals!" At once, the barrage stopped; the Abyssal guns had to be tracking toward Kongou, now. "How _dare_ you interrupt our sacred tea-time to attack innocent people! I'll never forgive you!"

Did the destroyers get her to watch _Sailor Moon_ , or something?

"Here! Take these rounds of BURNING LOVE!" Boom.

At my side, Irene was giving me a bewildered look. "Did she just say, ' _rounds of burning love_?'"

I really, really wanted to shrug. "That… is Kongou."

"…ah. I've heard about her." And thankfully, she left it at that.

The next minute was spent in silence; I'd deliberately chosen to wait and see if anything else headed our way before retreating. "The Abyssals are preoccupied, now. We should get you to safety," I declared, standing.

She didn't move. "Yeah. Get rid of the dead weight. Tell me, Yamato… if I hadn't been here, would you have charged right into that battle, taking on those Abyssals even if you were outnumbered and outgunned?"

"Yes," I said without hesitation. "It is my duty."

Irene was on her feet, anger blazing in her eyes. "It's MY duty, too, you know! I _should_ be able to help in some way – but, no! Instead… instead, I get to be fucking _USELESS_!" she roared. "Oh, and don't forget, I'm keeping you from–"

The fire abruptly died in her eyes, pupils dilating wide… and she screamed in pain, clutching her temples as she collapsed to her knees.

My first thought was to panic. Had she been shot, without either of us realizing it? I was crouching before her in an instant, scanning for wounds… until her body started to glow with a soft golden light, and float into the air.

 _What!?_

As I watched, her body slowly grew, lengthening, expanding, clothes shredding around her… the golden light! She was Awakening!

How could I have not realized that from the start? The golden light resembles the sparkles we see whenever we summon or dismiss our rigging!

Her rigging appeared, firmly latching to her waist, cannon turrets settling into their places on the hull, bolts tightening neatly.

Whoever Irene was, she had the guns, hull – and engines – of a _battleship_. I gasped in shock. Was this what had happened to me, when I Awakened?

The golden light faded, and she dropped, whatever had kept her afloat having vanished with the light.

Oh, yes. Just like my Awakening. _That's_ how I must have destroyed my bed.

I rushed to catch her, lowering her to the ground, as far as her hull would let me.

Her blonde hair was much longer now, falling haphazardly around her rigging. A black crop-top and gray bustier called attention to her considerable engines _far_ more than attempting to keep them in check, followed by a black-and-white-striped microskirt, and garter-belt stockings that had red stripes on the right leg, blue on the left. She wore black fingerless gloves, which extended from the cuff into long, gray sleeves.

I stared past her, at the ship-self that was now clearly visible behind her. Definitely a battleship, with the hull number "61" painted on her hull and deck, just as it was printed on Irene's new bustier.

BB-61, then? I know I've heard that number before, but which ship is she?

Thank goodness for smartphones. A quick Internet search gave me the answer: the USS _Iowa_.

The newly-Awakened Iowa stirred. "...what?" she muttered, noticing her rigging for the first time.

"Congratulations," I remarked, smiling. "You are now a battleship."

"What?"

I helped her to her feet. "You are the reincarnate of the ship-spirit of the battleship, USS _Iowa_ , BB-61."

"I'm a shipgirl!?" she asked in disbelief, even while watching individual guns on her rigging waggle up and down at her command.

"Yes. Which means that now..."

She adopted a malevolent grin. "I _can_ _help_."

Iowa headed for what was left of the cliff's edge. "What do you say, Yamato? Wanna help me take out the rest of the Abyssals?" Before I could answer her, she leapt from the edge.

 _Crazy Americans_. Although, technically, I thought while summoning my rigging, I was an American as well…

* * *

Nagato was the first to notice us as I followed Iowa into the Admiral's office, both of us still a little battered and charred from the battle – nothing a soak in the repair baths couldn't fix, however.

"So, Lieutenant… you _are_ a shipgirl, now? Yamato, do you have some sort of talent for finding reincarnates we need to be aware of?"

Iowa stepped forward. "USS Iowa, BB-61, reporting."

"The _Iowa_ …?" Captain Meyers was understandably stunned. "Lieutenant Hawke, you're…"

"Yes, sir," she confirmed, switching to English. "I am."

"This is great! The Admiral will be pleased to learn we finally have a battleship on our side."

"In due time," interrupted Nagato, with the help of the interpreter. The way her glare and voice dropped several degrees whenever she had to speak to the man told me the dreadnought wasn't about to forgive him for the deception for quite a while. "As you are aware, all newly-summoned and Awakened shipgirls go through a period of adjustment, during which they are unable to use normal transports. Iowa will have to remain here until we can arrange for a cargo plane to fly her back to San Diego."

Huh? In my case, when they discovered me, they had a plane waiting to fly me to Japan in less than a day. It can't take that long to get Iowa a military plane, can it?

Knowing her, though, it wouldn't surprise me if she actually wanted to brave the trip across the Pacific _on_ the ocean, Abyssals and all, rather than above it.

"As long as there isn't too much of a delay, I'm sure the Admiral will understand."

Nagato returned her gaze to Iowa. "As for you, Iowa… what, exactly, did you do to upset Kongou?"

Unapologetically, Iowa snorted, crossing her arms underneath her chest. "She's just annoyed because we crashed her party."

"…Really."

"Okay, sure, I _did_ challenge Yamato to see who could sink the most Abyssals, but Yamato won, so Kongou shouldn't have a problem with it!" With a sidelong glance at me, she added, "Although, Yamato only won because I'm still getting used to my guns, so…"

I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. "I'll look forward to your report, then, Yamato," the Admiral said, diplomatically. Mutsu laughed.

"Captain? You did say you wanted to ask Yamato a question or two, correct?"

"Ah, yes." The Captain approached, clipboard in hand, an action that caused Nagato to drift protectively closer to my side. "Yamato-san, are you sure nothing special or extra was added for your summoning?"

I waited for the interpreter to tell me what he had said. "I do not know. The Admiral has assured me that my summoning ceremony was as unaltered as the ceremony we used to summon my sister. I have no reason to believe otherwise."

"Why did you choose now to answer the summons?"

"I discovered that I was needed, and answered the call."

Nagato narrowed her eyes. "Are you insinuating Yamato _waited_ for the need to be great, before she answered?"

"No, not at all! As I mentioned, we're trying to figure out why our own carriers and battleships aren't responding to the summonings. We were hoping you had some insight, or could help us improve the process."

He gave me a hopeful look. "Yamato-san, Admiral Goto seems to believe having you present at your sister's summoning helped greatly. Do you think that if you were to attend one of our summoning attempts…"

Did he _seriously_ just ask that?

I shook my head. "No. Sir, for many of those ships, I was The Enemy. The largest target they sought to locate and sink. I doubt very much that any of them would appreciate seeing me present at their summoning… and that is if my presence did not turn them away beforehand."

"Oh. You're right, of course. I can't believe I forgot that."

"However, you may consider having Iowa be present at the summoning attempts, instead."

"Iowa?" Meyers asked, casting a quick glance at the battleship in question, who was preoccupied with explaining something to Mutsu and the Admiral, complete with the occasional wild hand or arm gesture. "Hmm. Maybe."

Now… how to tell Iowa I've just doomed her to perpetual summoning ceremony duty?

* * *

Author's Notes: Any similarities between this chapter and jokes that begin with, "So, two Musashis walk into a bar..." are purely coincidental.

DougTbx: Only to a point (no pun intended)… otherwise, shipgirls based on more recent ships might have… problems.

Special thanks: Kevin Hammel, Crescent Pulsar, Fred Duck

* * *

OMAKE: The Island Winds Are Swiftly Increasing

Goto sighed.

Perhaps it was paranoia, he mused. One quickly learned, however, that at a naval base that was home to many, many shipgirls, peace and quiet was a rarity. _Something_ was due to happen.

He wasn't surprised, therefore, when Nagato threw his office door open, seconds later. "Admiral, we have a problem."

"Are the Abyssals attacking?"

"No."

He tried searching for hints in her level stare, the way she carried herself… and failed. Nagato was just too damned good at keeping most everyone from seeing her emotions.

"Did Yamato accidentally let your hamster out of its cage, again?" Honestly, if he hadn't known better, he might have believed Haruka had done it deliberately, to spite Nagato.

"Ah… no."

"You want to check, don't you."

Nagato was torn, clearly considering it. "That's not important right now!" she insisted, bringing the palms of her hands down upon the top of his desk – lightly, he noted, to avoid breaking the desk. Again. "It's Shimakaze."

"Shimakaze?"

"Yes. She's found her reincarnates."

Well, that wasn't too bad, in his opinion. He relaxed, leaning back in his chair. "She always does say she wishes she had a sister."

"Sisters."

"What? More than one? How is that possible?"

Nagato's voice was grave. "Triplets. And… they're _all_ Shimakaze."

"Oh. Oh… dear."


	4. Food for Thought

" _That_ went about as well as expected."

Admiral Goto sighed, wearily dropping the dated, military-issue phone's handset back onto its cradle. Funding negotiation calls always had a way of making one feel extremely tired and old… and it wasn't even lunchtime, yet, damn it!

Nagato began gathering her ledgers. He'd learned months ago that it was a good idea to have her present whenever he made the calls, just in case he needed to consult her or her records. Although on occasion, there was something to be said for having _her_ speak to the idiots for a while.

"I take it they didn't agree with your proposal?"

Another sigh. "Did you know," he asked, "that Yamato used her outside connections to attempt a little negotiating of her own?"

Her eyes widened. "She didn't."

"Don't worry, she made it clear she was doing it on her own, not as a representative of this office. What she did, was try to convince them she wouldn't accept additional funding if it meant the people of our country were to have extra taxes or price hikes forced upon them."

Nagato shook her head. "Oh, Yamato… She meant well, I'm sure."

"I know." _Sacrifices have to be made, in a time of war,_ the old adage went – but thus far, no one had been eager to declare the conflict with the Abyssals an _actual_ war. Haruka was exploiting that loophole, placing the people before herself, even if that meant she may be sidelined much longer than anticipated.

At any rate, he needed to have a talk with the girl about the proper way to conduct negotiations. "Is Yamato in her office?" For all Haruka's good intent, she was also a bit trusting and naïve, and someone would take advantage of that sooner or later. Best to leave the negotiations to him, or Nagato.

Haruka inadvertently torpedoing her and her sisters' chances for funding this morning was only one of the day's concerns.

He'd had to order Iowa and Kongou to be confined to their quarters for the day, if just to keep the peace. Their American guest just seemed somehow able to… _bother_ Kongou, without even really trying. And since it wasn't a Good Thing to have two battleships intent upon antagonizing each other, he figured it was time to try giving them both a cooldown period.

Naka and Sendai, meanwhile, were highly concerned, having learned that a Japanese girl in New York had Awakened as their yet-to-be-summoned sister, Jintsuu.

The Abyssals had inexplicably decided to travel farther inland than ever before, to attack the ferry the girl and her parents were riding.

About half an hour later, the shipgirl team dispatched to deal with the Abyssals discovered the new shipgirl unconscious, floating amongst the wreckage.

The poor girl was shell-shocked, and barely spoke. Her parents… were missing.

The _Sendai_ sisters had both volunteered to head to New York not to recruit her, but help in any way they could. The question was, was he able to spare them for such a mission of mercy?

He stepped through the door to the office proper, Nagato trailing a few steps behind. Haruka was seated at her desk in her office, busy with some paperwork; she'd been assigned the office upon accepting the job, though she had had to wait for her body to finish adjusting to truly use it.

"Yamato? May we have a word?"

"Yes, Admiral?"

Nagato inhaled sharply at the sight of the battleship's appearance in the office's warm overhead lights. Yamato was pale, and shook slightly. "Yamato, are you okay?"

She uttered a weak laugh. "I am fine. I ended up running a little late, this morning… so I had to skip breakfast… that is all."

The absurdity of the idea was setting off alarms in Goto's mind. Shipgirls rarely _skipped a meal_ , if they could help it.

Nagato was suddenly very worried. "You skipped breakfast? With those small meals you eat, _and_ after participating in that battle, yesterday?"

"I am… fine." Yamato wobbled. "Fiiiine…," she managed, just before passing out, Nagato straining to catch the taller girl.

"Damn it," Goto swore under his breath. "See if you can set her on the couch in my office." It wouldn't do to let visitors see Yamato in this state, after all. "Hopefully, Akashi's not too far from a phone."

* * *

"…See? …She's… waking up."

"Yamato?"

…Ugh.

Words… what…

Pink.

 _Focus_.

I blinked, my brain starting to work again… I hope.

The Pink resolved itself into Akashi's stern face, inches from my own. " _Ah!_ "

She didn't seem the least bit fazed by my shout, instead raising an insulated metal tumbler to my mouth. "Here. Drink this. It'll help for now."

 _Ship fuel. Warm,_ my mind helpfully supplied as the mixture coated my throat. And maybe… something else, though I wasn't any good at picking out additives from fuel by taste alone.

"Now, then," Akashi insisted in the same no-nonsense tone after I'd finished drinking and she'd removed the tumbler, "Yamato, would you mind telling me _why_ you're pretty much running on fumes?"

"It's her diet. She tries to eat like a refined lady, with meals not that much bigger than what a normal person eats."

"Yeah, I've heard the rumors about that. A battleship shipgirl, trying to eat small meals meant for a 'refined _human_ lady?'" the repair ship scoffed.

"I have started eating more meals per day," I insisted, defensively. I already have multiple _trays_ per meal – I just don't pick them up all at once.

"But you're still hungry most of the time, am I right?" Akashi reclined in her chair. "That's kinda my point. You're effectively starving yourself."

"I…" Unable to think of anything to say in response, I closed my mouth again.

"If you want to keep eating like that, you'll need to eat… oh, a minimum of _twelve_ meals a day."

"But…"

She pinned me with her gaze. "Look. You are _Yamato_. One of the largest warships ever laid down and launched. You and your sisters are gonna have the biggest appetites of any shipgirl in the world, and you can't hide or ignore that.

Yamato, you can continue to 'eat like a lady' if you want, but unless you wanna start supplementing your meals with a _lot_ of ship fuel, you need to start eating a _lot_ more. You really need the food."

When I didn't immediately reply, Akashi pressed onward. "Beginning right now." She stood, walked to the office's door, and yanked it open… to reveal my sister, a grim look to Musashi's face. "Musashi. You heard all that, right?"

"Yeah."

"I want you to take Yamato to the mess hall. Tie her to a table, whatever. Just make sure she doesn't leave the building until she's full."

Oh, come on! "What? Do I not have a say in this?" I protested.

Everyone ignored me.

Musashi scooped me up with one hand and slung me over her shoulder. "P-put… me… down!" I was stronger than I had been, though I didn't know if I could stand if she _did_ release me.

Even Nagato and the Admiral were pretending not to notice. _Traitors_.

"You want I should do this for all her meals, or just this once?" my sister asked.

Akashi paused, considering. "I'll leave that up to you."

* * *

Iowa very deliberately kept her eyes focused on her TV, to avoid thinking about the couch she was leaning against.

It wasn't fair, dammit! Television was meant to be watched from a _couch_. A chair, _maybe_. The floor was only an option if your friends had already stolen – er, _taken_ all the seats.

But as Nagato had stated the day before, as a newly-Awakened shipgirl, she was undergoing a period of adjustment, where her body reflected some parallel of the _Iowa_ 's 45,000-ton displacement through spiritual echoes or something. She'd only break the couch if she tried to sit on it, and she had no desire to run up a bill for destroyed furniture during her brief stay at Yokosuka.

Yamato, now, _she_ had finished adjusting. The prim-and-proper Japanese battleship had dropped by for a visit the previous evening, and proceeded to sit on the couch. Not fair.

At least, having been given officer's quarters, she had a full kitchen in which to experiment, while confined to quarters. Not to mention the PlayStation 4 and small stockpile of games she'd bought.

She was grateful that nobody had spread the word about what she and Captain Meyers had been assigned to do; everyone was essentially treating her like she'd always been a shipgirl, no matter that she was an American ship, dressed notably differently… and the _Iowa_ _had_ fought against Japanese ships in World War II.

Had _Katori_ returned as a shipgirl, for that matter? Maybe she should apologize.

A knock at her door interrupted her train of thought. "Just a minute!" she called, shutting off the television and walking to the door – where she immediately found herself facing four young destroyers.

"Iowa-san?" Akatsuki asked. "You're friends with Yamato-sempai, right?"

Iowa released the breath she'd been holding. "I'd like to think so. Wanna come in?"

"Can we?"

"Sure." The four wasted no time in rushing past her into the main room. Mentally shaking her head, she carefully shut the door behind them. "I'm only here temporarily, so I haven't done anything with–"

All four of the destroyer girls were seated neatly on her couch. _**So**_ _not fair._

"You've got video games, though," Ikazuchi said, pointing at the PS4.

"Well, yeah. I guess." Iowa placed herself between the TV and the girls. If she let them play games now, she'd never learn the reason for their visit. _Or_ who they were. "…So," she prodded, after a moment of silence.

Ikazuchi surreptitiously poked Akatsuki's leg. "Introduce us, dummy," she hissed in an urgent, low voice.

Akatsuki gave her sister a cold glare, that somehow shifted to a cheerful expression when she turned back to face Iowa. "I'm Akatsuki, and that's Ikazuchi, Inazuma, and Hibiki. We're DesDiv Six."

"Pleased to meet you, DesDiv Six." Iowa smiled. "I'm the USS _Iowa_ , but you already know that. So, what's up?"

"We want to do something nice for Yamato-sempai, but we don't know what. We thought, since you're friends with her, you might have some ideas."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. She's gotta be so bored and depressed because they won't let her deploy, and she's stuck working at a desk in the Admiral's office."

Iowa frowned. "Tell me about it. They won't even let ME go practice in the bay." When she wasn't confined to quarters, anyway. "And yeah, you'll never catch me working another desk job again." Especially now that she was the United States' first battleship shipgirl. They needed her to fight Abyssals _far_ more than mountains of paperwork.

Why _did_ Goto have three of his most powerful ships working in his office? She'd have to ask Yamato.

"It's that bad?"

She waved a hand back and forth dismissively. "…Eh. Yamato probably doesn't mind the work. Me, I did it for way too long. A couple of years, a while back."

"But we still don't know what we should do for her."

"Hmm. Well, let me see." Iowa snatched her cellphone from where she'd left it, lying on the coffee table, and checked for Yamato's 'birthdays' – the dates on which the _Yamato_ was laid down, launched and commissioned. "Oh, looks like we just missed her launch date. August eighth."

" _Wha_ _a_ _t!?_ Her launch date was on the eighth? Why didn't anyone celebrate it?"

"Maybe she asked everyone not to make a big deal out of it," remarked Ikazuchi.

"I doubt it. I'll bet she was hoping someone would remember without her having to tell them."

The varying dubious stares Akatsuki's sisters were giving her almost caused Iowa to laugh. Yamato had to have her fans among the fleet… was Akatsuki one of them?

"Ah! I know!" Akatsuki shot out of her seat. "Let's make her a cake, anyway!"

"Can… we do that, nanodesu?" asked Inazuma.

"No problem, no problem!" Akatsuki grabbed her sisters' hands. "We'd better get started! Thanks for the help, Iowa-san!" And with that, she was out the door in a matter of seconds, her three sisters trailing behind in her wake like odd flags hung from her rigging.

Iowa stared at the door for a brief moment in concern. The four had all the energy she'd come to expect from destroyers… but, baking a cake? Should she warn somebody?

Nah. There _had_ to be someone manning the kitchens at all times – the base was host to a fleet of shipgirls, who might want something to eat at any hour of the day.

Besides, she had to deal with her unexpected guest.

Iowa positioned herself underneath one of the ceiling tiles in the middle of the room, looking up. "You can come down now, Kongou. They're gone."

She could hear Kongou shift in surprise. "How did you know I was up here?" The tile slid to one side, allowing Kongou to poke her head through, upside down.

"Radar." Iowa smirked. "You can't sneak up on me."

"Drat." Kongou dropped from the ceiling, brushing herself off.

"Aren't you worried you'll get in trouble for breaking confinement?" Iowa thought to ask, as she stepped closer to the fast battleship. She towered a good head-and-shoulders over Kongou, and _knew_ damn well that left Kongou staring directly into her bustline by default.

"Nope!" chirped Kongou, not taking the bait.

"Crap."

* * *

I rested my hands on my stomach, still thoroughly amazed.

I'd eaten what had to be _more_ than a truckload of food, and didn't feel at all sick, bloated or have any sort of pain. In fact, my strength has already completely returned.

You'd think that after watching Musashi do the same thing a few times, with no adverse effects or weight gain… I might realize _I_ can do it. But, it went _very_ much against what I was taught, in being a 'proper lady.'

Musashi took a seat on the floor next to where I sat, on my couch. "Don't worry. You'll get used to it." She snorted. "Look at me, telling you you need to adjust. You've been a shipgirl longer than I, Musashi, have."

I exhaled, a long sigh. "I will admit to feeling a lot better." But yet, a little embarrassed.

"See? You're gonna be fine. Nobody's gonna think less of you just because you're eating a lot more than you used to."

"I, Yamato, find that hard to believe," I argued. What will Akatsuki think, for example? I'm supposed to be projecting a specific image. How does an exponentially bigger meal reconcile with that?

"You need to loosen up, Yamato. Like Akashi said, we're the biggest warships ever launched; everyone _knows_ we'll have the largest appetites. And besides, I won't let you starve yourself again, just 'cause you're worried about what people think of you, so there."

She found the remote for the TV, and began flipping through the channels. "Hey," she said, after a couple of cycles. "What would you say if we went out, got some drinks?"

Is she _actually_ suggesting we go to a bar? Me? Musashi knows I don't drink!

I'd like to think that the half-lidded glare I gave her could have stripped the paint from her hull. "Eh, never mind," Musashi concluded.

"You want to go _back_ to that bar? The owner is insisting you and Misa must pay to have his imported giant moose head restuffed." Nagato had wanted to veto that charge, as it was the most ridiculous of the few additional charges that magically appeared _after_ we agreed to reimburse the bar for the damages. Whether or not she's done that by now, I don't know.

"I'll tell him what he can stuff–"

"Musashi…," I warned.

She made an exaggerated show of rolling her eyes. " _Fine_. No stuffing. I was thinking of a different bar, anyway. They're not so uptight there."

I shot my sister a suspicious stare. "How many bars in the area have you visited?" With, or without Misa.

"Not all of them." Musashi grinned, fishing a small, worn spiral notebook from one of the pockets within her vest. "Just the ones Junyou recommends."

* * *

"We're making cake, NOT soup. See?"

"Yeah, you're supposed to add water."

"Not all the time!"

"…The oven's ready!"

"Stop trying to add _that_ , Hibiki! It's not in the instructions!"

"…Where did you get that, anyway?"

"Я никогда не скажу."

"Huh?"

"…And… that's it. We just gotta let it bake…"

* * *

There's probably something ironic about the thought of two battleships trying to keep _another_ two battleships behaving civil toward one another.

What was it about Irene – about Iowa – and Kongou that made it difficult for the two to be anywhere near each other without clashing, somehow? Or ending up participating in an increasingly bizarre one-upmanship contest?

Haruna had reluctantly called the office to report that big sister Kongou wasn't anywhere to be found in their quarters. Everyone on-base was aware that Iowa's stay was temporary… which meant if Kongou wanted to execute her swift and terrible vengeance, it needed to be done as soon as possible.

So, she had to either be with Iowa, or in the immediate area.

"Yamato, how do you feel?" Nagato asked with genuine concern, as I tried to match her pace. The Admiral had instructed her to retrieve me before confronting Kongou and Iowa; maybe he believed that Iowa would be more likely to listen to a friend. If she does consider me a friend…

"I feel fine," I answered, honestly, trying to keep my voice neutral. Admittedly, I'm a little cross and embarrassed over what happened this morning, but who wouldn't be?

"You said that when you fainted, earlier, too."

I closed my eyes to avoid looking at her. Don't make me regret almost forgiving you, Nagato. "I, Yamato, do not faint."

"Whatever you say, Yamato."

The guest barracks aren't that far from our regular barracks, so we were outside Iowa's quarters in a couple of minutes, alert for any sort of disturbance.

There wasn't any. No explosions, no cannonfire… no destruction. No screaming or arguing.

If Kongou _is_ in there…

Swallowing hard, I gathered my resolve, and knocked on the door.

"It's open!" Iowa. Sounding suspiciously not-bothered.

Well. Onward, unto the breach – or however that quote went. A literature expert, I am not.

I warily took point as we entered the apartment, Nagato following immediately behind me.

"Maybe if you go that way?"

"I tried that last time, _desu_. That's where all the bad guys are hiding."

 _What?_ I stopped short at the end of the genkan, causing Nagato to walk into my back.

Kongou was kneeling in front of Iowa's TV, game controller in hand, while Iowa sat next to her, offering suggestions.

Iowa has been teaching Kongou how to play _video games_?

And, what are they playing? I don't think I know that game…

They noticed us. "Oh, hello, Yamato, Nagato-san! Kongou and I, we thought this would be a _better_ way to deal with our issues," Iowa said, through an obviously strained smile. "Isn't that right, Kongou?"

Kongou's smile was equally forced. "Yes, that's right!"

I purposely did not mention the shattered controller I'd spotted hiding in the trashcan near the door.

"Okay," Nagato declared, maneuvering around me. "I'm making a judgment call. Kongou, Iowa, as long as both of you promise to behave and not start anything, you can stay here. Is that understood?"

"Yeah."

"Absolutely, _desu_!"

I could have sworn I saw the ends of Nagato's lips _almost_ turn upward in amusement. "We'll hold you to that. Now, if you don't mind, Yamato and I must get back to the office."

We must? I haven't been there since late this morning. But if Nagato was offering me a way out of a somewhat awkward situation, I should follow her lead.

All but ignored, now, we left them to their game, making our way out the door.

"You do not believe them, either," I remarked, once we were well past what I assumed to be hearing range.

"Of course not."

* * *

Musashi was again idly cycling the channels on my TV when I returned – although at some point, she'd stepped out to grab some snacks, probably from her quarters.

Hmm. That's a thought. I have a full kitchen; why aren't _I_ stockpiling food and snacks? If I'm going to have to eat a lot more…

She paused in chugging her two-liter bottle of soda as I tiredly reclaimed my seat on the couch. "Kongou and Iowa?" Musashi inquired, knowingly.

I nodded. "Yes."

Neither of us said anything while Musashi continued her run through the channels.

Flip, flip. She grabbed a large handful of chips from the family-sized bag beside her. Flip flip flip.

Sometimes, my sister's just really easy to read.

"You _do_ have a television in your room," I casually remarked.

"Mm." Right. Don't try to get Musashi to talk with her mouth full of chips.

Flip. Flip… flip. Flip. Flip.

"You do not have to keep an eye on me," I said, softly. "I am, and will be, fine."

Musashi shut the TV off, averting her gaze. "Yamato…"

A loud knock interrupted whatever she might have thought to say. "I'll, uh, get it," she fumbled, pulled herself up and rushed to the genkan.

The instant Musashi opened the door, I could hear Akatsuki's voice call, "Yamato-sempai?" from the hall.

"Hey, Yamato," Musashi snarked, "were you expecting the runts?"

"HEY!"

I wasn't sure how aware DesDiv Six was that Musashi was merely messing with them, having taken to calling them 'runts' every chance she had. Well… I _hoped_ that was the case. That nobody had ever summoned their rigging implied it probably was…

"Invite them in, sister," I instructed, joining them in the genkan. Musashi could keep this game up forever, if you let her.

"You sure about that? They say destroyers can only suck your blood, if you invite them in."

"Eww! That's so gross!"

"Yeah! Destroyers don't do that!"

Case in point. Has Musashi been watching _vampire movies_?

I tried to channel Nagato, somewhat. "If you are worried, go back to your room and lock the door."

"Nah. I, Musashi, think I'll stick around. Somebody's gotta protect you from the runts."

Akatsuki carefully ducked and weaved around her, the rest of DesDiv Six following suit, until all four were standing before me.

"We baked you a cake, Yamato-sempai!"

"You… baked me… a cake? Wh–" I stage-coughed, to cover my nervousness. "What is the occasion?"

Anything that might have been… unusual… about the cake Akatsuki was presenting me, was hidden quite well underneath a thick layer of icing, colored a bluish-green that strongly reminded me of the ocean. Was that intentional?

Musashi appeared just as unsure as I felt.

"We wanted to cheer you up!" declared Akatsuki, and her sisters agreed. "Because you're stuck in the office and can't deploy…"

Oh, Akatsuki…

"…and because we all missed celebrating your launch day on the eighth."

"Ah!" Musashi paled. "I forgot, too! I'm sorry, Yamato." She hung her head.

"Please, do not worry about it, everyone," I told them. "Even I had forgotten it. We have all been busy, of late." Which was true. As Yamato, I know my 'birthdays' well – most shipgirls did, although I can't speak for every Awakened shipgirl.

"It's not right. Did anyone _mention_ it, at all?" Akatsuki persisted.

No. Nobody had, curiously. Except for DesDiv Six. But, as I said, we _have_ been busy… and I, too, had forgotten.

I took the cake from Akatsuki, and set it on my kitchen counter. Among the first things I'd bought upon moving in, were paper plates and a box of plastic silverware, as I hadn't known how much I would be using the kitchen.

A dull plastic… butter knife? …wasn't the greatest tool for cutting a cake, but I soon had a piece for everyone.

"We're sorry we couldn't get you any presents."

"This cake is present enough. Thank you," I replied, risking a spoonful of my slice. Hmm. Chocolate cake mix, with cream cheese icing?

The destroyers crowded around me. "H-how is it?" Inazuma asked, hope quite clear in her eyes.

I swallowed. "I like it. Good work, all of you." That wasn't a lie. Aside from the unusual icing choice, as far as I could tell, they'd followed the recipe or directions to the letter.

"Oh, don't tell the runts _that_ ," Musashi grumbled. "You're such a momboat, Yamato."

 _Really_ , Musashi? I narrowed my eyes. "Very well, then. As temporary momboat… _DesDiv Six!_ " The latter, in my best command voice.

Akatsuki and her sisters snapped to attention.

"You see that ship?" My glare was firmly fixed on Musashi. "… _Get her._ "

Musashi's smirk dropped. "Uh-oh," she muttered, eyes searching for an escape route – which she found, bolting for my door just ahead of the loudly whooping DesDiv Six.

I settled in at my kitchen counter, to finish off the rest of the cake. Well… I _guess_ it was an interesting Launch Day celebration…

* * *

Author's notes: Coincidentally, Chapter Three was posted on August 8. The events in that chapter do not happen on that date, however.

On Naka and Sendai traveling to New York: Ideally, if the trip does take place, it would happen in a side story. At the moment, I have nothing planned, but if anyone would like to try their hand at writing it, let me know.


	5. Unexpected Changes

" _Goood morning, Long Beach! The time is eight A.M., this Saturday morning, and if you don't have to be anywhere anytime soon, you might want to stay inside. It's a bit muggy and stale out there, today, so–_ "

In a motion that spoke of extensive practice, the young woman lying face-down in her pillow raised a lone finger… and brought it precisely down upon the off button of her clock-radio.

Alexis Weber loved weekends. With no school, and both parents working day shifts, she was free to do whatever she wanted, including sleep in.

But not today.

Today, she was a year older. Seventeen.

Alexis was determined to enjoy as much of the day as possible, before Mom and Dad returned, and took her out for the traditional birthday dinner. Where, as always, they'd happily embarrass her by telling the restaurant staff it was her birthday, and she would have to listen – along with everyone else – to yet another version of Not _That_ Birthday Song.

As she sat on the edge of her bed, she spotted a folded note lying on her nightstand. Leaning over to snatch the paper, Alexis let herself fall onto her side, bouncing once against the mattress.

 _Happy birthday, Alex._

 _I wish we could be there with you all day, but I don't think they will ever let us change our schedules. To make up for it, we're giving you one of your presents early. That "Prinz Eugen" model you've been wanting to get is on the kitchen table._

 _We'll be home later this afternoon, so make sure everything is clean and put away by then._

 _Love you, Mom and Dad._

"Oh, huh," she muttered, pulling herself up again. That her parents would buy her the model, she had expected – otherwise, she'd have bought it a week or so ago. But to have them offer it to her as an obvious distraction, so they could top it, later?

Interesting. Maybe this year, the routine might break and give her some _different_ surprises. The good kind, not the embarrassing kind.

Well, she had plenty of time to assemble a model. But first… a shower.

* * *

An hour later, her desk was littered with several plastic _Prinz Eugen_ pieces.

She'd been introduced to working with models as part of a hobbyist group in junior high, and had quickly graduated from building cars, to planes, and then model warships. Even she had no idea how many U.S., Japanese, British, German and Russian ships were currently on display in her own 'private fleet.'

Warships were definitely more fun to build than some boring old cars…

Her thoughts naturally turned to _Prinz Eugen_ , as she assembled the model.

Rumor had it that _Eugen_ was one of the precious few ships Germany had managed to summon as shipgirls. It was well-known that Germany was one of the countries who had a next-to-nonexistent shipgirl fleet to call upon, and were desperate for whatever shipgirls they could get.

That did not, however, explain why they were so secretive about the ships they _had_ summoned.

What would shipgirl Prinz Eugen look like, Alexis wondered? Internet image searches popped up plenty of artist speculation sketches, much like the guesses regarding Yamato that had circulated wildly prior to the Japanese battleship's summoning… and were still circulating, in USS Enterprise's case.

Surprisingly, most artists had shipgirl Eugen bear little resemblance to shipgirl Bismarck, considering that the _Prinz Eugen_ had been mistaken for the _Bismarck_ on at least one occasion.

Eugen should look like Bismarck's younger sister, then.

Alexis carefully set the assembled conning tower in clamps to dry. She'd become fairly proficient at building model warships, in her opinion, the only real limiting factor being the time needed for the glue to dry. _Not that I care about those stupid competitions,_ she thought with a frown, taking a moment to sweep a few stray locks of long blonde hair away from her face and back over her shoulder, where it belonged.

Germany wouldn't be so secretive if it had some of its big guns, she reasoned, like _Bismarck_ and _Tirpitz_ , to send after the Abyssals. It was easy to imagine all three shipgirls posing for a picture – Bismarck and Tirpitz stoic and quiet, standing side-by-side, with a smaller Prinz Eugen before them, grinning and mugging for the camera.

But… if they _didn't…_ She paused.

With so few shipgirls, and no Bismarck or Tirpitz… were they sending Eugen out to fight the Abyssals _alone_? The same shipgirl Eugen sprang to mind, again, this time wounded, clothes torn and burned from fierce combat, cowering… "Big sister Bismarck… help me…"

A blinding starburst of pain lanced between her eyes, and she collapsed face-forward into the pile of model parts. Unseen, a golden glow began to fill the room…

* * *

One of the good things about having three independent _Yamato_ -class ships on the battlefield at once, is that it makes it that much more difficult for the enemy to single out the greatest threat at a glance.

I weaved as best I could around the volleys headed my way at my current high speed, trying not to let my anxiety over steaming headlong into an oncoming storm of cannonfire show, stopping only to detonate the pair of torpedoes that had been launched in my direction.

Apparently, they've decided _I'm_ the biggest threat.

The temptation to simply turn toward whoever was firing upon me and blast away was great, but I wanted to avoid the risk of needing to reload while under heavy fire, as much as possible.

Misa, likewise, was attempting to pick and choose her targets, when I'd last seen her… unlike Musashi, who suddenly steamed through the small group firing at me with her guns blazing, scattering them.

She'd been looking forward to this battle, happy to see some action at last. My sister, the battle maniac.

The Admiral and Nagato had established some sort of compromise with the Diet for my funding, and probationary funding for Musashi and Misa. One of the conditions, supposedly, was that I _wasn't_ allowed to know any details about the deal.

Oh, well. I'll uncover those terms, eventually.

More rounds zipped past my head; the group gunning for me was reforming. I grit my teeth, loosing two salvos in their direction to discourage them… and with any luck, tag at least one of them.

My luck held. Two more ships were out of the running, their teammates again scattering. I turned hard to starboard, taking advantage of the break to head for a less ammunition-filled section of the battlefield.

That was when I heard the familiar loud reports of 46cm triple-gun turrets, and changed my heading to investigate.

I spotted Misa trading shots with an enemy heavy cruiser – except she was so preoccupied, she hadn't noticed three tell-tale trails in the water behind her, speeding toward her back.

Torpedoes!

There wasn't enough time for me to target and detonate them before they reached Misa. Not from this distance. I opened my mouth to shout a warning – but Musashi was _there_ , sliding into place between Misa and the torpedoes, roaring, " _ **PAY ATTENTION!**_ "

Musashi intercepted the first two torpedoes, the third by now too close… so she instinctively shifted, letting it explode ineffectively against her armor belt.

In an actual battle, this would be a somewhat acceptable tactic, as Musashi, Misa and I can weather a fair amount of punishment.

Paint splattered across Musashi's legs and feet.

" _Musashi is out,_ " Nagato's voice announced over the radio.

However, in a training exercise, where we're only allowed _one_ hit…

My sister grumbled, steaming off the battlefield.

For this exercise, half the participants had been assigned to play an Abyssal force. We were all armed with training rounds – and training torpedoes, for whoever could use them.

Both teams were to try to eliminate the other team, by tagging each opposing shipgirl with paint. Fortunately, for those of us who are bigger targets, rigging hits did not count.

As I'd actually need to use my radio equipment for the exercise, Nagato had given me the necessary frequencies and codes my faerie crew required to get it all properly set up.

A shipgirl's faerie crew was just that – the spirits of every sailor who had served aboard the original ship, returned as faeries to perform the same duties aboard her as a shipgirl. Everything from damage control, to piloting planes. Though, I'm not sure how that works when both summoned and Awakened versions of a shipgirl are present… I'll have to remember to ask my sisters.

Nagato relayed five more names, three of which were 'Abyssals.' That left just one 'Abyssal' on the field…

Inazuma.

Dressed by Nagato herself in one of the few Abyssal costumes someone had created for training purposes. Nagato had even assured Inazuma she still looked cute.

Paint rounds hammered my rigging from behind. I darted forward, arcing around to get a look at my attacker.

Inazuma was rushing me? Why? Sure, it _was_ a typical Abyssal desperation tactic, but aside from potentially being able to claim she'd tagged me, wouldn't she have better luck firing into the more-clustered destroyers and cruisers as she passed?

Worse, Misa was approaching, with Kaga and Zuikaku individually following her at a distance. Any second now, Misa would open fire. She'd be caught in a crossfire between two battleships, with the possibility of planes attacking her from above.

Which again made me wonder – why go after _me_?

I quickly targeted Inazuma, using only my 15.5cm guns to counterattack, sniping rather than blanketing the area with shells. Bringing my 46cm guns to bear at this range would most likely injure her, training rounds or not.

She managed to dodge my shots, then tried to put some distance between herself and the four of us… only to be herded back toward me by a short burst from Misa's 15.5s.

Frustrated, Inazuma appeared to consider firing upon Misa for a moment, then thought better of it, perhaps not wanting to chance bringing Kaga and Zuikaku into play. Both carriers were already tensed, holding their bows at the ready.

The remainder of our team was beginning to gather in a circle around us, watching, for now.

Inazuma turned her attention back to me, panting slightly.

This was it, then. Inazuma's last stand. Surrounded, and growing tired, she wasn't going to escape this exercise without being tagged. But would she be able to tag someone else before that?

She began to shift her guns into position.

All of a sudden, a lone shot rang out from behind me, striking Inazuma in the center of her chest, paint rippling outward from the point of impact. She teetered backward. "Hawawawa…"

I rushed to her side, steadying her and helping her remove the bulk of the costume.

Sendai lowered her arm. "What?" she asked, noticing that almost everyone was staring at her. "Honestly, you guys take too long."

* * *

"How is Inazuma doing?" the Admiral asked, as I entered his office.

I'd been with everyone else at the docks, cleaning up and recovering after the training exercise ended, when the Admiral called my phone, asking me to drop by the office.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

He cast a quick glance through the open door into the waiting room beyond. "Where are Nagato and Mutsu?"

"Nagato volunteered to stay with Inazuma, to make sure she'll be okay." Inazuma had only suffered a couple of bruises… but if Nagato wants to give her a bit more attention, who am I to complain? "…and Mutsu said she wanted to keep an eye on Nagato."

I caught the Admiral's brief wince. "That's not a good thing?"

"I'll explain it to you when you're older," he said, wryly.

Older…? Hey, technically, I'm older than the Admiral… though I wisely kept that thought to myself. My keel was laid down in November, 1937, which means I'm at most seventy-nine years old now, in 2016, I think.

That's in normal years. If, like 'dog years,' there's such a thing as 'ship years…' I'm not sure I want to know.

"Kongou is also in the baths, along with her sisters..." I continued.

The look in the Admiral's eyes became distant for a moment. _None of my business._

"…but Iowa's also hanging around the docks, too." Iowa had been annoyed that she couldn't take part in the training exercise, with no budgeting allowing for visiting shipgirls to use the base's resources, except in emergencies.

She'd spent the exercise sitting on the end of the metal-reinforced concrete pier, sulking, dangling her feet in the water – and occasionally kicking at it with just enough added horsepower to send moderately-sized sheets of it our way.

"Iowa knows she's leaving, tonight, and wanted to participate with you and the others at least one more time."

…And we didn't allow her to do it… _why_?

Yes, I'm well aware that's a stupid question. We're an island country, so resources are naturally limited. Freighters and fishing boats alike are all at risk of being attacked by the Abyssals.

The Diet ultimately controls all the funding, including ours, which was why we had to negotiate with them to cover my operating costs, and were working on convincing them to permanently cover my sisters' costs.

For Iowa to even join our training, earlier, we'd also have to request funding for her.

That's not getting into any of the _other_ expenses, either… like, say, how much it must cost to keep an entire fleet of shipgirls fed. Including Akagi… and me.

What kind of meal does an _Iowa_ -class battleship need to eat, come to think of it?

"Naka's asked to go with you when you see Iowa off," the Admiral stated, interrupting that particular line of thought.

I raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Naka? Not Nagato?" I'll admit, I've become used to accompanying Nagato on administrative runs.

"She's wanted to meet Iowa, but you know what her schedule's been like, lately. So, now that they're giving her a few weeks off…"

Ah. "You're letting them go on that trip to New York." As much as I currently was unsure about sending _Sendai_ on what the Admiral was calling a 'mission of mercy,' who better to help an Awakened Jintsuu, if not her sisters?

"Yes." He slowly stepped toward one of the office's two small windows, staring through it. I never understood why he does that, every once in a while – the windows are protected by thick bars, and only provide a view of the street that leads past the office. "As for Nagato, the Diet's auditors want to take a look at our budget books for the entire year, and she intends to make sure everything's in order."

I winced. The _entire year_? How much of this is due to my needing extra funding?

 _Big old battleship me,_ I mentally chastised myself, dropping onto the couch and resting my head in my hands, _costing my country tons of money._ I can't even cut back on food, with everyone trying to make sure I'm eating properly.

"Nagato has every faith that you're ready to start to handle administrative runs without her."

I raised my head. "She does, does she."

"Yes." The Admiral took his seat behind his desk. "And, I trust her judgment, so if she believes you're ready for more responsibility, you'll have it."

"Uh… thank you, sir," I replied, momentarily taken aback, and could feel the color rising in my cheeks.

"Now, there's something else I need to discuss with you."

I straightened. "Sir?"

"Hmm…" He paused, I assumed, to determine how to proceed. "Haruka. Do you have any observations about your sisters' performance during the training exercise?"

My sisters…? I ran through the entire exercise in my mind, before drawing a breath to speak.

"Historically, Musashi and I each saw extremely few battles. She's been looking forward to being able to go into battle once again. But today… she tended to be reckless and overzealous. I don't know if she'll behave like that in a true battle, though.

Misa, on the other hand, was cautious and picked her shots, mostly. She could probably use some practice at improving her reaction time, and learning to keep an eye out for torpedoes and other hazards."

I settled back into my seat with a sigh. "Maybe I'm worrying too much, I guess, but I'd feel a lot better if they both at least had radar to help them identify threats in advance."

It was a long shot, and would no doubt cost a lot, I know. However, if I could help keep my sisters safe…

"That's actually related to what I wanted to talk to you about. The Diet is considering funding upgrades for Musashi and Misa, including radar."

"Eh? That's great!"

"But only if _you_ consider being upgraded, first."

I was stunned. When I ultimately found my voice, it was a little hoarse. "Me?"

"Yes." The Admiral pushed a paper-clipped packet of papers toward me, Akashi's messy handwriting – she insisted upon using a blue ink pen that bled – covering the entire first page. "Those are Akashi's notes on the upgrade. Basically, you'll have radar, at the cost of your planes, and your secondary guns will be upgraded for better anti-air. She also said that they'll try to improve your armor, if possible."

Briefly, I made a valiant effort to read the notes, despite the handwriting and mini ink-blots. That didn't sound too bad… I don't really use my F1M2s all that much. My pilots might complain about having nothing to do…

"I should note there is always a chance of your physical appearance, behavior, or both changing as a result of the upgrade, as it may place you in sync with a later version of your ship-self. In your case, the upgrade will essentially give you the configuration you had shortly before Operation Ten-Go."

I often wondered why shipgirls are almost always summoned or Awakened with the configurations we had on launch, and not our most recent upgrades.

"Can… can I think about it?" I asked, now a little less confident about the upgrade – and thinking about Operation Ten-Go always floated a sense of dread deep within me.

I had nightmares about my sinking, now and then. Dark, vague, chaotic and deafening. But somehow… I knew.

I knew very well what it was like to sink.

"Absolutely. I want you to feel free to refuse, even _if_ they're holding your sisters' upgrades hostage," the Admiral said, again distracting me from depressing thoughts.

"Thank you, sir." I stood, bowing. "Is there anything else you wanted to discuss? I need to take a quick bath at the docks and clean up, if I want to be ready in time to escort Naka and Iowa to the airfield."

"No, that's about it. Remember, don't feel you have to rush. This is an important decision, and the Diet can wait."

* * *

Alexis turned to scan the ocean around her, smoke wafting from her guns, a result of opening fire upon the two idiot Abyssal destroyers who'd thought it was a good idea to attack a shipgirl traveling along the coastline. Honestly, they'd all but _begged_ to be sunk…

She paused to pull another cheeseburger and bag of onion rings from the sports bag slung around her shoulder, eyeing the dark, bubbling spots where the destroyers had gone under. Stupid Abyssals, adding to her travel time.

Not to mention making her hungry, again. A sports bag stuffed full of burgers, fries and onion rings only kept for so long. In an emergency, she could dismiss her rigging and go onto land to find a restaurant… if she wasn't so conscious of people staring at her and her uniform. Tall blonde shipgirl, wearing what looked like some sort of German military uniform? Yeah, they were gonna stare.

Damn. Well, she'd just have to make it to her destination before her food ran out. Wasn't she over halfway there, already? She'd be there in no time at all!

Alexis repressed the urge to count exactly how much food she had left, choosing instead to double her speed. She'd burn through more fuel in short order… but the longer she remained on the ocean, the better chance she had of encountering delays, like another group of idiot Abyssals.

* * *

Yes, I've been accused of being paranoid, once or twice.

The thing is, whenever shipgirls are involved, it's good to be prepared for anything to happen. _Especially_ if you're one of the shipgirls.

I'd worried that the presence of an American shipgirl on-base might possibly cause tensions to rise among our fleet – many of us had been sunk during World War II, and while the _Iowa_ wasn't responsible for most of those encounters, someone could choose to blame Irene for the actions of her fellow ships.

If anyone was bitter or resentful, though, they hid it well. No one had been rude to Iowa, confrontational, or angry, in that sense. They'd allowed Irene to fit in, welcomed her as a temporary part of our fleet.

In fact, the only hiccup was Kongou and Iowa's bizarre rivalry, which was _still_ largely unexplained.

"You're sure you haven't seen anyone there watching my shows?" Naka asked, raising her voice to be heard over the APC's stressed engine.

"If they are, they're doing it when I'm not around," replied Iowa. She shook her head. "Sometimes, it's like I'm the only one on the base who even remotely understands Japanese."

The bright and bubbly self-titled "Idol of the Fleet" had introduced herself to Iowa shortly before departure, and they'd been chatting ever since.

"It's too bad you're leaving, you know. I would've loved to get you up on-stage."

"Who, me? Nah," Iowa laughed. "What about Yamato? I bet she'd be great up there."

Naka deliberately shot me a glance from where she and Iowa were sitting on the opposite side of the truck, both smirking. "Are you kidding? Can you imagine _her_ , dancing to one of my songs?"

"Actually… yeah. I can."

I merely continued to stare at them in silence, aware they were trying to provoke a reaction from me.

They stared back… for a moment longer, until Iowa and Naka both broke down giggling.

"C'mon, Yamato, lighten up," Iowa chided, stopping to catch her breath. Her voice turned serious. "You know, Yamato, every time I see you, you're either on-duty, or working. Do you _ever_ do anything just for fun? Just for you? Or has Nagato succeeded in sucking all the fun out of you?"

Ugh. Now _that's_ an image I didn't need.

Iowa wasn't finished. "Do you… play video games? Put on a swimsuit, and go to the beach? Read a book? Listen to music? Sing? Dance? Watch TV, see a movie? Go out with your friends?"

"…No," I said at last, grimacing. Not since I arrived in Japan.

"Why not?"

My gaze dropped to my feet. "I… do think about it. Doing something. But then… we often end up being so busy, that I either have no time in which to do it, or forget about it."

"So Nagato _is_ turning you into her clone."

"She is not," I retorted.

"Yamato, I've worked administration and desk jobs before." Iowa leaned forward in her seat. "Get out while you still have your soul."

Surely, you exaggerate.

"We're almost there," the driver announced before I could reply. "There's a steep turn coming up, so hang on to something."

Oh, that's right. I'm no longer a multi-ton lead weight in an APC. I belatedly grabbed the nearest retaining straps. Naka did the same… and so, too, did Iowa.

She'd learn the fun of being an immovable object sooner or later.

* * *

Naka was the first to hop out of the APC after it jerked to a halt a few feet short of the cargo plane's loading ramp, looking none the worse for wear for having been bounced against the inner shell of the truck twice.

"Cannot wait to get back to work, hm?" I teased, as Iowa and I followed suit.

Irene slung her bags over her shoulder. "Yeah, my country needs me." She sighed. "Well, that and the Admiral's office keeps calling me, asking if we've got the cargo plane yet."

"They're that eager?" asked Naka.

Eager, and desperate enough to have Irene pretend to be Enterprise. How were they going to broach _that_ topic when she returned to base?

"Very much so, yes."

Iowa trudged up the loading ramp, carefully depositing her bags inside the plane.

"I know," she said, returning to the open doorway, "We can get together on Skype tomorrow night and I can tell–" Iowa's expression fell as she remembered who, exactly, she was speaking to. "…and you don't have a computer, do you."

Instantly, Naka was at my side. "I'll help her pick out a laptop after we're done here, and teach her how to use it. I've got some time before I have to leave for New York." What? "Just email me your contact information. I'll set everything up."

But I already _know_ how to use a computer, Naka. Great. Am I about to become the first shipgirl computer prodigy?

"Don't take too long with your goodbyes, girl," the pilot called back from the cockpit. "We need to get going."

Iowa snorted. "Pilots."

Inwardly, I heard my faerie pilots bristle, wondering what she meant by _that_ – and I'd be surprised if hers didn't have something to say about it as well.

"Guess I'd better get going, then," she frowned. "If I don't, I'm sure the Admiral'll be here any minute to drag me back himself."

Naka gleefully grabbed my hand. "Yeah, and I've gotta get Yamato to the mall before it closes!"

"The _mall!?_ "

"We're going to get you a few _more_ things you'll need to have fun." And didn't _that_ sound incredibly ominous?

I turned a pleading look in Iowa's direction. "Is it too late for me to go to the United States with you?" Hey, I could visit my parents… it'd blow my cover, but _anything_ to get away from a crazy light cruiser and her misguided schemes…

* * *

Iowa's flight was _finally_ underway.

That Japanese admiral's office had sent his office the notification about twenty minutes ago.

What was the man's name, again? The only thing Treston commonly remembered about the man was that he was the admiral in charge of shipgirl Yamato… and from what Treston had seen so far, doing a poor job of it.

Ah, yes. "Goto." Admiral Goto, of the Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force.

Goto had been the man that succeeded in summoning the _Yamato_ – that over-armed battleship of Japan's that had since become a symbol, a legend, viewed with reverence – as a shipgirl. Yamato was an individual now, a girl with free will, like every other shipgirl… but she was also a battleship, a soldier, meant to be used against naval threats like the Abyssals.

Instead, Goto had the battleship working as an aide. Alongside two sister battleships – the _Nagato_ -class – that were his next most-powerful ships after the _Yamato_ -class.

Why?

Why wasn't Goto sending Yamato and her sisters out to intercept every Abyssal that dared show its face within range of Yokosuka?

There had to be something, some reason, he was missing. Maybe Lieutenant Hawke could provide an explanation.

An aide respectfully knocked on the door frame leading to his office, as he'd never had an actual door to close. "Sir?"

Treston shifted his gaze from his computer's monitor to the doorway. "Yes?"

"A blonde shipgirl has just arrived at the docks–"

 _Iowa?_ he wondered, then dismissed the possibility as foolishness. _Couldn't be. Even if she_ _ **did**_ _want to travel over the Pacific, it would take her over six days_ _ **at best**_ _to get here._ That was discounting run-ins with the Abyssals, weather patterns, and Iowa's refueling needs.

No, the ocean route was currently too dangerous for even a battleship like Iowa or Yamato to handle alone. The Abyssals could have countless forces hidden in the ocean between Japan and the United States, and at present, the only reliable way to be sure of the presence of any Abyssal ships… was to _actually be within firing range of those ships._

"Did she say who she was?" he interrupted.

The aide nodded. "She claims she's the German battleship, _Bismarck…_ and she's here to enlist."


	6. While You Were Out

Admiral Treston carefully studied the shipgirl standing opposite him on the other side of the desk. She was a blonde, and though young, showed definite hints of German ancestry in the stern cast of her facial features and slate-gray eyes.

Her uniform vaguely resembled that of a World War II-period German military officer of rank, with its gray peaked cap and somewhat-modified topcoat… but had decidedly shipgirl-style touches, like the detached red-and-black-striped sleeves that ended in large-cuffed leather gloves, gray thigh-high stockings, and a small anchor that descended from the steel guard and choker around her neck – a representation of the _Bismarck_ 's bow, he assumed – to rest just atop her breastplate.

A good percentage of Bismarck's shipgirl uniform mirrored Iowa's, in fact, except Iowa's uniform tended more to make one think of the pin-up model photos sailors once attached to the walls of their shipboard quarters. These days, sailors probably kept their racy photos on a computer or phone.

The incoming email alert notification on his computer chimed. He read the message, and called up the attached personal data files. "Okay; my staff has just verified your story with your parents. To clarify, you are Alexis Weber, age seventeen, from Long Beach, and you are an Awoken shipgirl."

"Yes."

"So tell me… Bismarck, why do you want to enlist?" Truth be told, he wasn't about to turn away a battleship shipgirl _volunteering_ for duty. But, he had to ask… why a girl who had just turned seventeen, and had no prior inclination to go into military service, now wanted to join the United States Navy.

Bismarck appeared to consider her reply. "I want to help, somehow. For a long time, I've been keeping up with all the news about the Abyssals and shipgirls. And now that _I'm_ a shipgirl, it would be very stupid of me not to do my part." She briefly chewed on her lower lip. "Even if I only end up towing ships to safety, or something. But I know our country needs battleships."

"We do have one other battleship," he informed her, gauging her reaction. "An officer under my command was recently Awakened as the USS _Iowa_ while… on assignment in Japan. She's now on her way back to base. Would you have any problems working with her?"

"The _Iowa_?" She tried to recall what little she could of the _Iowa_ 's service record. "Unless the _Iowa_ and _Bismarck_ ever fought each other, there shouldn't be any problems."

He nodded, making a mental note to double-check the histories of both warships. "If, as you say, you have been keeping up with the news, you should know that when the German Navy discovers your presence here, they will not rest until they've recruited you."

"I'm not going to Germany," Bismarck declared.

When the Admiral didn't respond, instead continuing to stare impassively at her, she pressed onward. "Until… _this_ ," she gestured to herself, "I didn't even know I was of German descent. I certainly don't speak the language. So, no, there's no chance of me going to Germany."

Simply becoming Bismarck should have begun the process of connecting Alexis with her past self's knowledge of the German language. It had been verified that Awakened shipgirls who – for one reason or another – couldn't speak their 'native language,' gradually inherited their former selves' fluency in those languages.

"Just so you're aware it could become a problem. I trust you will do your best to help ensure it does not?"

"I will." The vehemence in her voice was surprising.

"Very well. Battleship Bismarck?"

"Yes?" She blinked.

"Seeing as how we do not have a protocol in place for shipgirl volunteers, I must improvise. As of this moment, you are now an acting Lieutenant of the United States Navy, with all the benefits, privileges and responsibilities that entails. Your rank may well change depending upon your performance… and from now on, I expect you to carry yourself as an officer of the U.S. Navy would. Is that understood?"

She snapped to attention, hand to forehead in the best approximation of a salute someone who had never read the manuals could manage. "Yes, sir!"

"Very good." She'd learn, at any rate. "Now, go speak to my staff. They'll help you take care of the paperwork and formalities, and show you to your new quarters. I'll see if we can get you an advance in pay to help you settle in."

"Thank you, sir."

"One last reminder," he said, as she turned to leave. "Remember that as a recently-Awoken shipgirl, your body will reflect a parallel of the original _Bismarck_ 's displacement, until it has finished adjusting. I would appreciate it if you kept the property damage as minimal as possible."

Bismarck grimaced. Clearly, she had already learned that lesson.

"What did you break, if you don't mind me asking?" he inquired in a softer voice.

It was another moment before she replied. "…My Dad's car."

Oh. Ouch. Definitely try to get her that advance.

* * *

Iowa held the printout at arm's length above her head, once again scowling at it.

Ah, but she had made an embarrassing mistake in her rush to board the cargo plane… she'd forgotten to ask anyone just how long the flight actually _was_.

And now, who knew how many thousands of miles above the Pacific, lack of a network connection kept her from calling or texting Nagato or Yamato to verify the ETA, much less playing most of the games installed on her phone.

You could only pester pilots so many times before they locked the door to the cockpit.

The only remaining option was to arrange the duffel bag holding her 'old' clothes on the floor of the plane like a pillow, and either attempt to sleep, or read.

Unfortunately, she hadn't packed any books. But she was bored enough to read _anything_ – even the gag order Captain Meyers' office had forwarded to her through Admiral Goto's office, two days after the man had taken his flight back to San Diego.

She was no longer _allowed_ to discuss the 'Enterprise fiasco' with anyone.

 _We can't silence you, but we can make you pretend it never happened._

What had been the original plan if she'd failed to convince anyone she was Enterprise, the shipgirl? Quietly attach her to Goto's command, and run like hell?

As Iowa, she was far too important to bury. How awkward would it be, though, serving as a battleship under one or more of the officers responsible for the deception?

Was she going to end up wishing she'd been assigned to the Yokosuka fleet, instead?

She had made friends, in her short time at Yokosuka. Helping Naka teach Yamato how to have fun was going to be difficult, from the other side of the ocean.

Maybe, somehow, they could convince _Nagato_ to learn, too. Have DesDiv Six dogpile her and drag her to the mall with Naka and Yamato, or something.

Turning on her side, Iowa wadded the printout into a tiny ball, and chucked it in the direction of the rest of her luggage.

She was now part of the fleet of shipgirls operating out of Naval Base San Diego. Would those girls accept her as a peer… or a leader, if it came to that?

Was she even ready and able to lead?

 _Remember, you're a battleship, girl. The USS_ Iowa. Meant to command an imposing presence, be both powerful _and_ swift.

Warship enthusiasts commonly matched her against _Yamato_ , debating which battleship would win in a head-to-head battle… never mind that she couldn't imagine either of them ever wanting to participate in such a showdown.

She closed her eyes, trying to guess what Naka might have maneuvered Yamato into buying at the mall. At least Yamato didn't have to deal with scheming worse than that…

* * *

Yeoman Erin Cavanaugh, one-half of the staff of what was officially listed as Naval Base San Diego's "Shipgirl Liaison Office," hesitated outside the door to the officer's quarters assigned to the Fleet's newest shipgirl recruit, long enough to check her watch before raising a hand to knock.

Oh-nine-thirty, on the dot.

She'd been too busy the day before, resolving a minor crisis involving the Taffies and WWE Network pay-per-view shows, to do little more than give Bismarck a rushed, brief welcome, hand her the details of the advance placed in the shipgirl's account, and point the bewildered battleship in the direction of Supply.

The base's outlets weren't much, but at least Bismarck would be able to get the basics – and square away any uniform needs she might have – before she had a chance to hit the off-base stores.

Had Bismarck been able to sleep well enough, the yeoman wondered? That transitional adjustment all shipgirls, summoned or Awakened, had to endure ensured the German shipgirl would have to sleep on the floor for the time being, and nothing Supply nor the base's outlets stocked was capable of making _that_ any more comfortable.

The sight of the shipgirl that answered the door momentarily gave her pause; Bismarck was now wearing a set of general fatigues and a cloth cap with 'NBSD' embroidered in gold thread across its face. Only the metal collar and anchor around her neck, and her boots, remained from Bismarck's shipgirl uniform.

Somehow, the outfit was _just_ barely oversized enough to hide the taller shipgirl's figure.

"That… makes you look like a guy," Cavanaugh blurted, before she could think better of it.

Bismarck gave her an odd look. "It does _not_."

She couldn't see any indication – thank goodness – that the battleship was intentionally trying to either hide her figure or dress like a boy. Like a number of shipgirls before her, unused to picking out clothes for her new body, Bismarck had probably chosen the first items she'd found on the racks that fit _and_ were comfortable.

"Are you ready to go?" Cavanaugh asked, peering into the room. Her gaze settled upon the large stack of pots and pans nestled in the sink. "The stores in the area open around ten, so we have a little time."

"Oh, uh…" Bismarck hemmed, noticing the target of the redhead's stare. "I tried cooking breakfast, but even after going through all the food I picked up yesterday, I was _still_ hungry. And…" her voice quieted ever so slightly. "Well… I forgot to get some dish-washing soap."

"I'll add it to the list of things to get."

* * *

Visiting the civilian stores of San Diego proper was hardly a new experience for Bismarck – one of her aunts lived somewhere close to the city, and there was a wonderful model shop on a side street Alexis had made it a point to visit every time she and her parents were in the area.

But, doing it as a shipgirl? Much less, as an officer in the United States Navy? Now, that was different.

Yeoman Cavanaugh had insisted, first thing, on taking her to a Burger King, standing at one of the dining counters, and instructing her to "keep ordering until you're no longer hungry."

Shipgirls _had_ to eat a lot, the yeoman had said, and explained why that was believed to be the case, what a shipgirl's body actually did with that food.

A shipgirl's hunger and fueling needs were, to an extent, proportional to the size of her original ship-self in addition to her former operating requirements. Which meant that as a battleship, she'd have a _gigantic_ appetite.

Bismarck savored the last few bites of her latest cheeseburger, having learned to ignore the glares practically everyone else in the restaurant was giving her. Better actual food than some of the things she supposedly could also eat or drink, now. Raw steel? Fuel or oil? _Nope_.

"Almost done?" asked Cavanaugh.

She peered through her mirrored shades at the yeoman, who had been irritated from the start that she _had_ picked up a pair of the sunglasses to wear with her fatigues. But, really, at what other time was she going to be able to try the look?

That the sunglasses also let her keep an eye on the majority of the people pretending _not_ to watch her every move was simply a bonus.

"Wellll…," she said, drawing out the word to be annoying, and began sorting her trash. "I think…"

Trash carried to the nearest trashcan. "…maybe…"

Bismarck spent another moment pretending to think about it. "Yeah. Maybe… I might get one more."

The groan that followed wasn't terribly loud, but it was enough to bring a smirk to her lips.

Cavanaugh hopped off her barstool, rolling her eyes. "C'mon, we need to get going."

Her shipgirl charge, however, couldn't resist a parting shot. "Thank you," Bismarck called to the staff behind the service counter. "The food and service were great. I hope to eat here again, _real soon_."

The entire restaurant went completely still and quiet at that. Unwilling to wait to see what fallout resulted from the clearly certifiable shipgirl's declaration, Cavanaugh hustled her away from the counter, and out the door.

 _Am I_ _ **sure**_ _she isn't really a Taffy?_

* * *

"…your total… is $157.99."

Bismarck stared at the dolly, where the futon mattress and bedding she was about to buy lay, and sighed, handing the cashier her military debit card. Why was a _floor mattress_ so damn expensive? Chances were, she wasn't going to need any of it in two to three weeks!

The cashier looked her over. "I'm supposed to ask," he said, handing her her receipt and debit card, "if you need help taking all that to your car."

She smiled. "Thanks, but I've got it."

As he watched, she concentrated for a few seconds, until two faeries emerged from somewhere near her stomach. The faeries glanced around the store, finally spotting Bismarck's mattress and bedding, descending upon the load as though they fully intended to lift and carry it.

A startled gasp escaped his throat as the girl's purchases actually _shrank_ between the two faeries, until they could indeed levitate the mattress and bedding… disappearing with the items back into the girl's body.

He regarded the woman accompanying the girl. "Shipgirl?"

"Shipgirl _show-off_ ," she clarified.

"What?" Bismarck blinked. "It's convenient!" Another benefit to being a ship as well as a girl. She'd resigned herself to ferrying loads of packages between the stores and their APC, when her faeries – admittedly, she was still adjusting to the concept of having a faerie crew operating within her – had helpfully informed her they could stow her packages in storage aboard her.

An odd feeling, being acutely aware of everything she had tucked away, and where it lay inside her.

"Yeah, okay, we get it. You're awesome," Cavanaugh said, dismissively, prompting a snort from Bismarck. "Now, were those the last things you wanted to get? We have to be at the airfield in less than an hour."

"No, that's it." For both the list, _and_ her advance. She hadn't even had a chance to visit the model shop, either. Maybe next time…

Bismarck dutifully followed her minder's lead, leaving the store and parking lot behind, as they again weaved their way around the people milling about the sidewalks.

"Are we going to stop for lunch before, or after we pick Iowa up?" she thought to ask.

The yeoman hesitated. "You're not hungry again, are you?"

"Not really. But she might be."

"Good point. Well, we'll see what happens when she arrives. If she just wants to go home, first thing, the two of you can get something at the mess hall. I think they said today is Hawaiian Day."

"'Hawaiian Day?'" echoed Bismarck, raising an eyebrow in puzzlement.

"You know, where the menu revolves around a Hawaiian theme. Lau lau, poi, things like that."

Bismarck retreated a step. "… _Poi_?" she exclaimed, aghast.

"What, you've had it before?"

"My uncle tried a Hawaiian barbecue one year, when I was little. They made me eat the stuff. It was _very_ sour." She made a face. "My parents later said it was because my uncle thought the stuff would keep for a few days. But by then, I'd already decided I never wanted to have it, ever again."

"Oookay. Nobody's saying you _have_ to have it, you know. It's not like it's the only thing on the menu."

Whatever Bismarck might have thought to say in reply was interrupted, as a man drunkenly staggered through the doors of the bar they were passing. She watched with a blend of horror and guilty amusement while the man's eyes lit up on noticing Cavanaugh, and – somehow! – managed to get an arm around the redhead's shoulders.

"Heey, girl. Whaa… whassay you l-lose your… boyfriend, and have – have some fun with–" He abruptly decided passing out was a much better idea, collapsing into an undignified pile on the sidewalk.

Bismarck wasn't sure if she should be offended, or find the entire situation funny. " _Boyfriend?_ "

The redhead shot her a glare. "I _told_ you those clothes make you look like a guy."

"He's drunk. It doesn't count," she insisted.

"Just pick him up and prop him on that bench over there, okay?"

"Me? Why? _You're_ the one he wanted to be with."

Cavanaugh's glare intensified. "You're a shipgirl! You're a lot stronger than I am!"

"Oh, all right."

* * *

"So, I have to take one of those, if I want to fly anywhere?" Bismarck asked, adjusting her optics to get a better view of the cargo plane beginning its descent at the far end of the runway. _It looks like a flying dumpster._

"Only until your body adjusts," answered Cavanaugh. "After that, you can fly in anything you want."

Despite her misgivings about the plane, it touched down without issue, taxiing to a halt several yards from where the APC had been parked in the dirt field bordering the runway.

The loading ramp was lowered, and Bismarck had her first look at her fellow battleship and teammate as Iowa disembarked.

 _ **That's**_ _her uniform?_ she thought. _It's so…_ _ **American**_ _._ Evidently, what magic dictated the uniforms a shipgirl wore upon summoning or Awakening believed there was to be _no_ mistaking that Iowa was an American ship, with liberal use of red, white and blue, on an outfit that – while it shared some common elements with her own uniform – seemed more at home on a supermodel.

But she was unmistakably the _Iowa_ , the actual _Iowa_ 's profile visible behind shipgirl Iowa resembling what Bismarck could recall from the model of the USS _Iowa_ she'd assembled.

"Welcome home, Lieutenant," Cavanaugh was saying, in greeting, to Iowa. "We're your ride."

Iowa caught Bismarck's gaze. "Who's this?"

"Ah, that's Lieutenant Bismarck. Like you, she's an Awakened battleship shipgirl… and your new teammate."

"Teammate?" Iowa studied the other shipgirl with a more critical eye. "'Bismarck,' huh. German?"

"Yeah," replied Bismarck, trying to keep her voice from betraying how nervous she felt at that moment. Unlike her, Iowa had been military from the start. It wasn't a good idea to give the more-experienced officer a bad first impression of her.

Suddenly, Iowa's lips turned up in a smirk. "And you wanted to join the Navy?"

She _knew_ , Bismarck realized. Somehow, Iowa had recognized she wasn't a proper Naval officer, yet. Was she being obvious?

Iowa's expression softened. "Don't worry about it," she said, and Bismarck wondered just what her own face had told the other shipgirl. "Feel free to come to me if you need any help, okay?"

"Uh… okay."

"So, what's the agenda?" Iowa inquired. "Can we get something to eat?"

Cavanaugh muttered something under her breath, that sounded suspiciously to Bismarck like, "Shipgirls." "You didn't get anything to eat at Yokosuka before you left?"

"Yeah, but it was a _long_ flight."

Bismarck's eyes widened. "Wait, Yokosuka? Do you mean Yokosuka Naval Base? Isn't that where Yamato is stationed?"

"Yeah."

"Did you meet her? What's she like?"

Iowa chuckled. "She's a bit of a 'proper lady,' and maybe a little naïve, but a good friend." She paused. "I was planning to call Yamato and Naka tonight, on Skype. If you want, I'll introduce you."

"Really?"

"I think they only speak Japanese, though, so I'll have to translate for you."

"That's fine. Thanks." To think, she was being given the chance to meet _Yamato_. She'd officially gone from building warships… to socializing with them.

And thankfully, not on opposite sides of a battlefield.

"Iowa." Softly, Cavanaugh cleared her throat. "Are you sure you don't want to check in with the Admiral, first? Get it out of the way?"

There was a hint of an edge to Iowa's voice that Bismarck was surprised to detect. "I'm sure."

Their minder shrugged, guiding them toward the APC. "Well, I had to ask," she concluded, in much the same tone as she might use to say, _it's your funeral_. "So, where do you want to go? We can go anywhere, except Burger King. They've probably banned Bismarck for life, by now."

* * *

Iowa's _huge_ computer setup was easily the first thing that caught Bismarck's attention as she entered her fellow battleship's quarters. A high-end gaming rig, using her 32-inch HDTV as a monitor.

The PS4 Iowa had mentioned she'd bought while in Japan, now rested on her kitchen counter alongside a ridiculously tall and precariously-stacked tower of games, waiting to be wired into the whole mess.

She was certain that power strips were _not_ meant to be used as a starting point for two more strips, at the very least.

Iowa knelt before her desk, answering email, from the look of the screen.

What was left of her desk chair, however, had been piled in the nearest corner, crushed beyond all hope of repair. Bismarck winced; she could imagine Iowa returning home after spending some time out of the country, and plopping onto her desk chair to catch up on her email, without thinking about it.

"I liked that chair, too," grumbled Iowa, her gaze never shifting from the screen.

Bismarck let the comment pass – Iowa could have ruined something more expensive, after all – and took a seat on the floor near the couch.

"Gimme a minute…" If anything, the quiet clicking sounds of Iowa's typing grew even faster. "And…" Mouse click. "Done."

She closed her email client, bringing Skype up from the system tray. "Here we go."

After a few moments of odd tweedling sounds, Naka's window lit up. " _Haa~~i, Naka-chan is here._ "

Naka was undoubtedly the most famous shipgirl throughout the world, if primarily because no one else seemed willing to take up a role similar to that of the 'Idol of the Fleet.' Bismarck immediately recognized her, and her voice – but, unfortunately, not what Naka had said.

And in the second window…

No Yamato.

" _Oh, for…,_ " Naka muttered, exasperated, a handful of seconds later. She cradled a hand to her head much like she would a phone, touching index and middle fingers to her ear, the heel of her palm facing her mouth.

"What's she doing?" Bismarck asked, approaching the desk while Naka's gaze went distant.

"She's radioing Yamato, I think."

Eventually, the second window flickered to life with Yamato's feed. " _I a_ _pologize_ _,_ " Yamato inclined her head in slight embarrassment. " _I have never used this program before._ "

"Don't worry about it," Iowa told her. "It _can_ take a little getting used to."

She shifted gears, pulling Bismarck within her camera's range. "Yamato, Naka… this is the battleship, Bismarck. Like me, she's newly-Awakened, and decided to enlist here at the base. She wanted to meet you."

" _Hello, Bismarck-san,_ " Naka offered in English, bowing. " _It's a pleasure to meet you._ "

Iowa gaped. "You can speak English, Naka?"

" _Of course. Sendai and I_ _ **are**_ _leaving for New York in the morning, and_ _ **someone**_ _has to be prepared to apologize for whatever my sister might do._ "

"Really?"

Naka shook her head. " _I had to learn English in the course of communicating with my fans around the world. Plus, I have served as an envoy, on occasion._ "

"Thank you," Bismarck acknowledged, doing her best to mirror Naka's bow. "It is an honor to meet you, Naka-san, Yamato-san."

"So tell me, Yamato…," Iowa interrupted, switching back to Japanese, "what, exactly, did you and Naka do at the mall after I left?"

The resulting blush that bloomed on Yamato's face promised an interesting story. " _We~ll,_ " Naka began…

* * *

Author's notes: Bismarck being ( _somehow_ ) mistaken for a boy is a bit of a reference to Otto Ernst Lindemann (captain of the _Bismarck_ ) insisting that the _Bismarck_ should be referred to as being male.

Special thanks: Pyeknu


	7. Sub-par for the Course

"Hey, I understand patrolling, and the need to do it," Bismarck commented, hastily pressing herself against the nearest wall to sidestep a pair of cruisers carrying stacks of pizza boxes tall enough to hide their heads. "I was just wondering, why send _us_? Aren't battleships overkill for simple patrols?"

Iowa glanced at her. She hadn't _quite_ determined what it was about the German battleship that simply looked out-of-place in a U.S. Navy uniform, like the service khaki Bismarck presently wore. "Nobody's exempt. Besides, this is the brass' way of introducing us to the rest of the fleet… and a show of power, if anyone's watching out there."

Bismarck's voice was subdued. "You think they _are_ watching us?"

"Couldn't tell you for sure. Hell, I haven't even decided whether or not I want them to know I'm gunning for them, just yet."

As a rule, Abyssal ships generally _did not exist_ , as far as advance detection technology was concerned. Even satellite imaging was unable to 'see' an Abyssal, unless she didn't care if anyone spotted her – often, because she was focused more upon destroying something than devoting concern to stealth.

Shipgirl instrumentation, with its own magical and spiritual ties, was unaffected by what measures the Abyssals used to confound 'normal' detection tech… but there were far too few shipgirls to effectively scour the seas for an enemy that could seemingly appear from nowhere.

Just like they'd ghosted into Tokyo Bay, the day of her Awakening.

There was a dull _clank_ as her foot caught against something metal, nearly causing her to pitch forward.

"Awww, _maaan…,_ " a young voice whined.

Iowa promptly lowered her gaze to the floor. She'd kicked over a bucket of water, that a destroyer had been using to mop the floor. Dirty water was seeping across the tiles.

It occurred to her to wonder, as she apologized, and both she and the destroyer girl crouched to pick up the bucket, why some part of her mind was insisting this particular destroyer was _familiar…_

The destroyer grabbed the bucket first, raising her head to tell the elder shipgirl she had it… and hesitated at what she saw. Sapphire-blue eyes, each inexplicably catching the light just right to form a highlight in the shape of a five-pointed star, met cobalt and gray eyes.

" _ **AH!**_ " both battleship and destroyer gasped in unison, as recognition set in.

Panicking, the destroyer swung the bucket upward, the inadvertent weapon slamming squarely into Iowa's chin – knocking her backward onto her back, to Bismarck's shock.

 _Who is she?_ Bismarck asked herself, moving to help her fellow battleship sit up. The destroyer had strawberry-blond hair cut in a short bob, heterochromatic eyes hiding behind a large pair of thick glasses, a basic sailor-suit top and cap, accompanied by cutoffs and sneakers. Bandages sparingly adorned her arms, hands and knees.

The destroyer's hull number – 597 – was printed on her collar, just below her neckline… which did Bismarck little good, as she'd never before had a reason to recall ships by their hull numbers.

"Owww…" Iowa winced, rubbing the back of her head. "Hello to you too, William D. Porter."

 _William D. Porter?_ The destroyer that had, according to history, nearly hit the _Iowa_ with a torpedo, and been involved in a few other accidents?

"Oh… oh no… I'm _soo_ sorry, Iowa…" the destroyer groaned, miserably.

Iowa half-heartedly ruffled her hair. "It's okay," she soothed, then turned to look at Bismarck. "Go on ahead. Tell them what happened. I'll be there after I help clean up here."

Bismarck nodded, and continued on her way.

"What did you do, to end up on mop detail?" Iowa asked.

William D. Porter shrank in on herself. "I broke one of the windows in the Admiral's home."

"That's not–"

"With a training torpedo," the destroyer added.

Iowa considered that. "But," she said, confused. "The training ranges aren't anywhere _near_ the Admiral's home."

"I don't wanna talk about it."

* * *

Yes, Iowa and Naka were trying to get me to have fun. I understand that, and I don't really have a problem with it.

But were they aware that _forcing_ someone to have fun wasn't a good idea?

Nagato and Mutsu were on the road for the next few days or so, on a tour of all the naval bases in Japan, an effort to help improve the efficiency of the bases' offices across the board. Yokosuka was consistently ranked as having the most efficient main office in Japan, in terms of administration.

So, where was I? In the office, making sure we didn't fall behind on paperwork?

No. I was swimming in the bay, feeling the saltwater flow past my hull, wearing one of the less-revealing swimsuits Naka had helped me buy at the mall – a one-piece, white designer swimsuit with red trim.

I'd made the mistake of assuming that with Iowa and Naka both out of the country, I would have a little leeway, try having fun at my own pace… only to find, to my horror, that they had recruited _Musashi_ for their crusade. And, of course, my sister wholly agrees with them.

She also thinks I could stand a drink or two, but there's no way I'm doing _that_.

Even the Admiral believed I and some of the others needed a break. He'd ordered all the battleships and carriers to take the day off, and relax at the beach… not necessarily an easy task, as he'd then also ordered Iku and the rest of the subs to join us.

The subs were currently somewhere farther out into the bay, doing… something. And keeping all of us in a constant state of wariness.

By swimming in the bay, I was practically daring Iku to pull some sort of prank on me.

As far as I was aware, everyone in the fleet knew how to swim. But, at the same time, many tried to avoid ever being placed in a situation where they would need to swim.

You'll have to remember, we're both ship _and_ girl. And our ship-selves – those of us who aren't submarines, anyway – want as little to do with descending under the surface of the water as possible, especially after already having sunk once.

While as girls, we _can_ descend without flooding ourselves, the unease and feeling of wrongness was still there. It affected _me_ , and I'd had no problems with swimming before my Awakening.

I was easing myself back into that mindset, first, by running through as many laps in the bay I could manage… then, after a break, I'd begin working on submerging.

With my luck, the magic will probably decide I need to transform into a submarine.

I left the water, trudging up the beach to where my sisters had placed their beach towels, and laid down on mine with a sigh, staring up into the sky.

"You're supposed to be having fun, Yamato. Not wearing yourself out," chided Musashi.

I didn't reply; Musashi knew full well what I was attempting to do.

Beside her, Misa was sunbathing. I couldn't tell whether or not she was asleep.

As unofficial twins, Musashi and Misa wore the same clothes, like the black bikinis they were both wearing now, with one exception – Misa preferred to wear a T-shirt and bra rather than a sarashi, to Musashi's disappointment.

Thanks to Naka, I'd finally gotten around to buying a full wardrobe of my own, again. She'd discovered, at the mall, that between my normal pay and the additional pay I was drawing as an aide, I had a _lot_ of money gathering dust in my bank account.

I'd only ever used it to buy a few small things for my kitchen, and the tailored suits and selection of underwear Nagato had insisted I special-order.

So, instead of a laptop, Naka had directed me to buy a full gaming PC, so that I could play online against her and Iowa, and a PS4, complete with a stack of games Naka figured would be good, to hopefully match Iowa's and the PS4 Naka also bought at the mall.

Plus, the wardrobe – including a handful of swimsuits and bikinis – and… a few other things.

Shopping for clothes with _Naka_ is not something I want to do again for a _long_ time… particularly as, by the end, I knew there would be tons of photos of us in the newspapers for the next couple of days.

…And, oh, the _attention_. I couldn't prove it, as Naka has all the receipts, but I was _sure_ the stores were giving us discounts. People went out of their way, everywhere we went, just to talk to us. Be seen with us, take pictures and selfies. To thank us for what we were doing.

There were people, and kids, who wanted to _hug_ us. I'd had to bend down in each case.

"It drives our minders and guards crazy," Naka had quietly told me at one point. "But… sometimes, you honestly have to be _with_ the people, meet them in person."

She's right, of course… but these days, generally the only chance I have of meeting civilians, is if they drop by the office.

Before she left, Naka made sure my computer and PS4 were completely and properly set up. She's expecting me to play online against her and Iowa this weekend – regardless of the fact that I'd have to connect roughly around oh-nine-hundred in the morning due to the time difference between the United States and Japan.

My radio picked up an incoming signal. " _This is_ Early Warning _, calling Yamato. Repeat: This is_ Early Warning _, calling Yamato._ "

I pulled myself up, instantly alert and scanning the horizon. 'Early Warning' was the name for the patrol the Admiral had assigned to keep an eye on the area around the mouth of the bay during our 'vacation,' consisting of Mogami, Atago and Takao.

They weren't supposed to contact me unless there was a situation.

" _Yamato here, Mogami. Report._ "

" _We've got a small group of Abyssals lurking. They're not attacking, but they're circling, making sure we know they're there._ "

" _Can you handle them?_ " I asked.

" _Sure. But I don't know if they've got more waiting to take their place._ "

I cast a quick glance across the beach. Every last battleship and carrier was tensed, watching me. " _Understood. Do not engage them unless they attack, or try to bypass you. I will_ _attempt_ _to send help to…_ _ **discourage**_ _them._ "

"Problem?" Musashi's voice had become thoroughly serious.

"Hopefully not," I answered. "But, everyone, please remain on stand-by, just in case."

Turning my attention back to the bay, I opened the channel. " _This is Yamato, calling Iku. Please respond, Iku. This is urgent._ "

"… _Iku, here. Yeah?_ "

"Early Warning _reports they have Abyssals lurking. Would you and the other sub_ _s_ _be able to 'discourage' them?_ "

I could imagine the wide grin that was forming on the submarine's face. " _Oooh, yeah. Iku knows juuust the way. Out._ "

How she was able to make _anything_ sound suggestive, I'm fairly sure I never want to know.

Keeping my optics trained in the direction of the mouth of the bay, just in case, I sat down on my towel again.

Peripherally, I saw Misa open her mouth, likely wanting to ask what was going on… but Ryuujou beat her to it. "Yamato? What's goin' on?"

"We have Abyssals lurking just outside the bay," I announced, loud enough for everyone to hear. "I have sent the submarines to – hopefully – take them by surprise."

Kaga narrowed her eyes in distaste, but said nothing.

"And if more force is needed?" Misa inquired, a little too quickly… she'd almost stumbled over the words. Most of the time, she prefers to quietly stand off to the side in a conversation; Musashi has been trying to spur her into participating. No version of _her_ was going to be a wallflower!

I spared her a glance. "It depends upon what reports I receive from Early Warning, and the subs. That is why I would like everyone to remain on stand-by." Ideally, if I did have to deploy anyone else, I'd default to two battleships with a carrier escort. If the situation is bad enough, that three heavy cruisers and four subs can't contain it, and we need to escalate…

I'm hoping very much that it won't come to that.

The problem is, we're far enough away from the battle that we can't really see or hear any of it, and therefore, I either have to wait for a report or head there myself.

So… we wait.

And… wait.

Yeah… waiting.

Have I mentioned I hate waiting? It's giving me time to run through ways the battle can go wrong… and oh, some part of my mind scolded, _why_ didn't I consider sending more backup? It would have been much, much easier to end the fight with a few battleships and carriers, right? Right?

Why do I have to be the one in charge?

My goal in deploying the subs was to surprise and sink the Abyssals while they were preoccupied with taunting the cruisers, to avoid the need for an extended battle. The presence of one or more battleships or carriers might have inspired the Abyssals to be a little more daring.

It was just over twenty minutes later, when Mogami finally relayed the all-clear. " _We got 'em. The subs sank most of 'em, and we took care of the stragglers._ "

" _Good work. Any sign of reinforcements or observers?_ "

" _Nope. Takao and Atago are running sweeps just to make absolutely sure._ " Pause. " _Yamato_ …"

I blinked. " _Yes?_ "

" _Did you_ _ **have**_ _t_ _o_ _send Iku?_ "

" _Why? What is she doing, now?_ " I'd had a feeling Iku was working her way up to pulling something…

" _You won't believe me if I tell you. Just… you gotta see it for yourself, okay? Before one of us_ _ **accidentally**_ _sinks her, I mean._ " The barely-restrained venom in Mogami's voice was fairly evident.

I stood, sighing, and took a few steps toward the water. " _I am on my way._ "

"Yamato?"

"Stand down, everyone," I ordered. "The threat has been contained." That done, I summoned my rigging, and walked onto the water. "I have to go… save Iku from herself."

* * *

Kirishima stepped through the double-doors serving as the entrance to the barracks building that housed the _Kongou_ sisters' quarters, a frown momentarily crossing her lips.

Kongou had left the beach early, claiming she had 'things to do.' That alone had raised Kirishima's suspicion – an evasive, quick-to-leave Kongou was a Kongou with a scheme in mind.

But Haruna, feeling a bit lonely, hadn't wanted her other sister to leave as well. So, Kirishima remained behind.

 _If only Hiei were here,_ she'd mused. The second-oldest _Kongou_ sister was one of the ships who had yet to answer the call, for reasons she could only guess.

Yamato had somehow, supposedly, drawn her sister – Musashi – by being present at a summoning ceremony. If she, Kongou and Haruna were able to attend a summoning, would they convince Hiei to appear?

 _Bah, speculation,_ she eventually dismissed the line of thought. _The Admiral will not hold a summoning ceremony simply because I have a_ _ **theory**_ _._

She stopped beside her elder sister's door; Kongou had never felt the need to close or lock the door to her quarters.

Kirishima stared. Inside, Kongou was kneeling at her table, writing… a letter.

Uh-oh.

Two weeks prior, Kongou had penned an extensive editorial for the local newspaper, explaining in detail just how soccer would be _so_ much better for both players and fans, with a healthy dose of _burning love_.

Needless to say, the Admiral hadn't been happy about seeing the editorial in print – or the resulting stream of counter-editorials and letters to the paper.

Kongou, undaunted, tried convincing the newspaper's staff she would make a wonderful advice columnist, the following week… only to discover that Admiral Goto had asked the paper to notify him whenever the battleship contacted them, and Kongou was politely told, "thanks, but no thanks."

Kirishima peered over her sister's shoulder at the letter, noticing what appeared to be English text. "What are you doing?"

"Ah! Kirishima!" Kongou exclaimed with a start. "I almost forgot to write my monthly letter to Warspite-chan."

Kirishima had to smile at that. Only Kongou could manage to claim the British Warspite as a pen pal… or get away with calling her, 'Warspite-chan.' "Say 'hello' to her for me, then, will you?" Technically, Warspite was a cousin, of sorts.

"Right away, _desu_!"

* * *

If I ever needed proof that Iowa and Naka are making everything up as they go along, in their attempts to get me to have fun, it's that the multiplayer game they picked for me to play with them this morning is a military game.

It's called, _Bullet Hell_. A PC game the online reviews claim is trying to be like _Call of Duty_. Not that I'd know…

We're already soldiers – okay, naval officers – and their idea of fun is to get me to play a medic in their three-man Army commando team?

They'd picked the PC game over actually playing _Call of Duty_ or another PS4 game like it, because they also wanted to use character-skin mods. So, I ended up playing a slightly-blocky rendering of me, Naka played herself, and Iowa… played as Kongou.

It's impossible to find a fan-made skin for Iowa, if only our two naval bases are currently aware she exists.

What I discovered, after an hour of playing… is that I make for a _pathetic_ medic. And, it's really disconcerting and frustrating to see 'yourself' repeatedly die to gunfire and explosives you _know_ your real-life armor can take.

" _Don't worry, Yamato. You'll get better at it._ "

I don't want to get better at it! Give me a good, long RPG or action game I can play for many hours. By myself!

Well, now that we've proven I'm no good at military video games, what's next? Racing? _World of Warcraft_? Bleah.

Game-Yamato dove into a convenient abandoned bunker. I'd lost track of Naka and Iowa in an ambush, and was trying to not fall victim to snipers yet again.

If I stop playing as a medic and revert to a normal commando, maybe I'll stand a chance. But I have to find a better weapon.

A dark shape dropped into the bunker behind me – a soldier, completely covered in urban camo. Desperately, I repeatedly tapped the 'melee attack' button on my gamepad, resulting in game-Yamato using a one-two combo to punch and uppercut the enemy soldier into unconsciousness.

Wow. Could I possibly do that?

My smartphone suddenly came to life, playing the upbeat no-vocals march Naka assured me was one of her upcoming releases… titled, _Yamato's March_.

I never expected to have songs in my name, either.

Anyway, I'd promptly set it as the ringtone for the Admiral, which meant ignoring the call was a Bad Idea. Turning my headset off, I grabbed the phone and unlocked it.

"Haruka," the Admiral stated, "I've just received word we're to expect a transfer to arrive a little later today. As Nagato and Mutsu aren't available, I'll need you to help me welcome her to our fleet."

A shipgirl, transferring here? "I understand, sir. I will be there as soon as I can."

I reactivated my headset. " _Naka, Iowa?_ " I called. " _I am sorry, but I must go – the Admiral is welcoming a new transfer, and wants me to be there._ "

" _Yamato, wait!"_ Iowa exclaimed, while I exited the game. " _You can't just disconn–_ " A sharp burst of static cut her words short.

I can't? Oh. Yeah, just breaking out of the game probably wasn't the best way to do it. Well, they'll get me for that the next time I'm on, I guess.

* * *

Mogami grumbled loudly to herself, pausing only to puff the bangs away from her eyes.

It was bad enough her sisters always teased her about being something of a klutz. Somehow, they'd received word of what Iku had tried to do to her during the patrol, and were using _that_ as ammunition.

She'd left the barracks, then, to go for a walk before she blew up and said something she'd regret, particularly to Mikuma.

The question was, who could have told them about Iku's sorry attempt at humor? Yamato wasn't the type to spread gossip, and she doubted Atago or Takao would do it, which left… the subs. Figures.

 _Iku better consider herself REALLY_ _damn_ _lucky I'm not equipped for ASW,_ she mentally ranted. _And that she spends all her time underwater, anyway._

She sighed, still irritated, as the walkway she was following ended at one of the base's busiest streets. The last thing she wanted to do was prove – again – what happened to a car in a collision with a shipgirl.

Mogami carefully scanned the street in both directions… and froze.

A _very familiar_ blue-violet-haired submarine stood on the sidewalk opposite her, wearing a hoodie over her ever-present swimsuit, hefting a duffel bag and staring at a packet of paper as though she were a tourist trying to follow directions.

Yeah, right! What was Iku trying to pull _now_?

She threw the entirety of her horsepower into launching herself across the road, heedless of the traffic, snarling, " _ **IKU**_ _!_ "

Mogami was beside the wide-eyed submarine in a heartbeat, snagging her, and in the same motion, slamming Iku against the side of the nearest building hard enough to create a sub-shaped indent in the wall.

"Got anything t'say before I _really_ hurt you, Iku?" the cruiser asked, keeping her firmly pinned to the wall by her shoulders.

This was the time when Iku, no matter how much trouble or pain she faced, always made some sort of lewd comment that would eventually, somehow, help her escape.

Not this time.

The sub winced in pain. "I…," she bit out. "I'm _**NOT**_ Iku!"

Well, that was new. It wouldn't help Iku in the least, but it was new.

Then, as the sub considered that, she amended, "Well, okay, _technically_ I am, but I'm _not_ , sopleasedon'tblowmeup?"

What? This had to be Iku's worst dodge, yet, and Mogami remarked as much.

"I said, I'm not Iku." Not-Iku gestured lamely to the packet of papers she'd been holding, now scattered across the grass. "I'm… Kumi. Iku's…" She made a face. "Iku's reincarnate. Those are my transfer papers, if you don't believe me."

"Huh?" Mogami noticed with some unease that a crowd was beginning to form, most having emerged from the building she'd just perforated. She let 'Kumi' drop, glare promising great pain if the sub made a run for it.

Kumi collected her papers, handing them to Mogami. "See? Officially, I'm Matsubara Kumi, Iku's reincarnate." Another face. "Unofficially…"

"Hi," she said, the emotion having left her voice. "I'm I-19-2. Please, call me 'Ikuni.'"

* * *

Admiral Treston tiredly rested his head on his desk, thoughts once again returning to the report Iowa had given, a few days ago. Something had clearly been bothering the officer-turned-battleship at the time, but she maintained her professionalism.

Japan's predicament was worse than he'd believed.

For all that Japan had the largest number of shipgirls to its name – due in no small part to having discovered the ability and means to summon shipgirls, and refining the process – for all that Japan had Yamato and her sisters… they remained at the core an island nation, naturally limited in resources, and the entire country's funds thoroughly restricted to the whims of yen-pinching politicians.

The Abyssals were in the process of isolating Japan from the rest of the world by sea. They didn't even _have_ to attack every ship that ventured into the waters near Japan – all they had to do was sink a freighter or fishing boat now and then, and make their presence known. Before too long, no one other than a shipgirl would want to risk the trip.

It was a collar the Abyssals could loosen or tighten at will.

Goto wasn't incompetent, in any sense of the word; he simply hadn't been able to field Yamato and her sisters as much as he'd like, and knew the dangers of letting his most powerful ships sit around… hence, Yamato, Nagato and Mutsu's new roles as aides.

Oh, the Diet had agreed to provide funding for Yamato and the Musashi twins. But how long would that last? Battleships like Yamato and Musashi required a _lot_ of resources to operate… then, and now. The Abyssals couldn't stop Japan from receiving supplies, food and other resources via air freight – but that was only a hedge against the inevitable downward spiral. There _would_ be a time when the Japanese government needed to decide between battleship operating costs, and the well-being of its people.

By that point in time, Goto or any other Japanese fleet commander might not be able to deploy _any_ of their shipgirls.

Who knew how much those large fleets of shipgirls were already demanding of Japan's resources?

Clearly, Japan needed help, whether they would admit to it or not, and while their problems were still in infancy. But the U.S. needed to be absolutely sure what needed to be done, and how best to diplomatically offer that aid to Japan.

Time to start writing notes for the proposal.

* * *

Author's notes: A concept sketch I created for my version of William D. Porter can be found at "imgurDOTcom_susO48Q" (replace the underscore with a slash, and a period for the 'DOT'). I'll probably upload it to my webspace, at some point.

Originally, I was considering "Ikuni" for a stand-alone story, either as part of this reality, or a separate reality. I wasn't sure I could write first-person lewdmarine, though. ^_^

Special thanks: Pyeknu


	8. It's News to Me

Lieutenant Junior Grade Matsubara Kumi, reincarnate of the dread IJN submarine I-19, fidgeted in her chair.

This was it. The absolute _last_ naval base in Japan to which she could be transferred. If even the base where her former self was currently stationed decided she couldn't stay, what was her next option? Make a circuit of the U.S. bases?

There had to be a base somewhere in the world where Iku's reputation didn't precede her. Where no one was willing to pulverize her in any way, for what lewdness Iku had inflicted upon them.

Poor Mogami… she was only the latest victim. She hoped Admiral Goto hadn't seen fit to punish the cruiser that severely…

Kumi continued to fidget. Why was she _alone_? She'd been ushered into the main office by a clerk, and told to wait there for the Admiral. That had been… what, fifteen minutes ago? Thirty?

Awakening as Iku had helped spur what paranoia she'd already had to new heights. When peace and quiet were merely a short break between instances of people and shipgirls grabbing her to seek revenge for whatever the hell Iku had done… well, spending most of her time deep underwater was beginning to look rather appealing.

The office door to her left opened. "Lieutenant Matsubara? The Admiral will see you now."

Kumi turned to face the source of the voice, and stared. _Whoa._

Photos and videos did _not_ do Yamato justice, she decided. Even wearing a bland gray dress suit and flats, the battleship had a _presence_ – an air of sheer power, natural beauty and ladylike grace, in a form that dwarfed hers in every way.

"Umm… s-sure," she stammered, all thoughts of protocol almost forgotten, and subsequently felt like slapping herself. Stupid. Of _course_ a battleship was going to be bigger than a submarine!

"Ah, Lieutenant Matsubara," the Admiral greeted, as Yamato led her into the rear office. "Sorry to have kept you waiting. Have a seat."

"No, it's okay," she lied, carefully settling into the chair across the desk from her host. Her shipgirl 'period of adjustment' had ended a little over two months prior, but had left her forever wary of letting herself drop into a chair.

Yamato, Kumi noted, quietly took a position to the Admiral's right, just behind him.

Oh, good. A distraction.

"Lieutenant, we would like to formally welcome you to the fleet. However, I'm sure you understand we must ask why, for an officer with an otherwise clean record, you have constantly been shuffled from base to base within the span of a few months."

Kumi nodded. She wasn't sure how extensively her files covered the incidents in question, but the brass preferred having her restate those details in her own words.

Iku. It was always Iku's fault, in some way.

"No matter where I'm stationed, sooner or later, someone tries to assault me over something Iku's done." This wasn't even the first time she'd been attacked before a base had finalized her transfer. "After a while, rather than continue to worry about anyone coming to look for me, they ship me off to a different base."

"Ah." Goto frowned, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly in annoyance. "The 'Make It Someone Else's Problem' option." How was anyone ever managing to get their work done by offloading it to another base? To be fair, though, Nagato would never let him do anything of the sort… which, he hoped, she was applying to every base she visited. "Well. Rest assured, Lieutenant, we will not be doing that here."

 _No offense, sir, but that's what all my COs say._

The Admiral sighed. "I know it may be difficult, considering Iku," he continued, fixing her with a level stare, "but I would be remiss in not asking you to make an effort to keep any and all incidents from occurring."

"I understand." Right. Considering that nearly every single incident involved someone targeting her, the Admiral's words were essentially pointless. Standard procedure. A typical cover-your-ass measure.

Now, if the brass went out of its way to ensure nothing happened to her, made sure everyone on-base and the countryside within a two-thousand kilometer radius was aware she _wasn't_ Iku, kept on-guard to prevent anyone from simply grabbing her to do bad things to her – or, hell, kept tighter rein on Iku…

Oh, no. Couldn't have _that_.

"According to your file, you've taken to asking that everyone refer to you as 'I-19-2,' or 'Ikuni.' Is that correct?"

"Unofficially. But, yes."

"Would you mind if we made it official? Our computer systems tend to become confused if more than one ship shares the same IDs." Yokosuka was certainly in a position to verify such issues; their other Awakened shipgirl also coexisted with her former self, Musashi.

"I… think it would be okay," Kumi said, slowly. "I already fully answer to both those names, so it shouldn't make that much of a difference."

The Admiral set her file aside. "Very well. We'll make sure everything is properly set up." He hesitated. "While we're here, is there anything else you wish to discuss – any further questions you would like to ask, Lieutenant?"

"Nothing that I can think of offhand, sir," she replied.

"You're dismissed, then. Go get settled in. You've been assigned to…" The Admiral glanced at a yellow Post-It note affixed to the top of her file. "Barracks building S-ten, room six. Yamato will show you the way."

"Actually, sir, I was wondering if Mogami could do it, instead."

Yamato blinked in surprise. "Mogami?"

"She attacked you, and tried to hurt you."

"Only because she thought I was Iku," Kumi insisted. "I'm sure she won't do that anymore." _Can't guarantee she'll be nice to_ _ **Iku**_ _, though._

The Admiral's stare had turned dubious, indicating he at least suspected she was up to something. Really, she would be worried if he _didn't_.

"Yamato," he instructed, after a long moment's consideration. "Take her, and check on Mogami. If Mogami's finished helping with repairing that wall, and doesn't mind showing the Lieutenant to her quarters, let them go."

"Yes, sir."

The battleship led her back through the office. "Is Iku aware of you?" Yamato asked, once they were outside.

Kumi shrugged. "I know she is. I _am_ her designated scapegoat, after all."

* * *

 _Why me?_

Personnel clerk Sarah O'Connell made an effort to survey what she could of the long line leading out the door of the Naval Base San Diego Administrative office.

The office was, by nature, always busy. And, as she was military, of _course_ she'd be assigned to work the busiest shift of the day.

But, hey, everyone had to start somewhere… right?

 _I'd better be promoted, and soon. Except with MY luck, they'll just stick me in the Shipgirl Liaison Office._

The so-called 'Shipgirl Liaison Office' had obviously been created just to give both the brass _and_ the public a convenient target to blame if and when the San Diego Fleet shipgirls did something embarrassing or costly.

 _Shipgirls. I hope I never have to work with any of them._ The one good thing about working in Administration was that she somehow _didn't_ have to deal with the shipgirls.

Time to get back to work. "I can help the next person in line," she called, tonelessly.

A young Japanese woman slid into the seat opposite her. "Lieutenant Commander Shino Kobayashi," the woman declared, pushing a packet of transfer documents across the desk. "I'm transferring here from NSA Saratoga Springs, in New York."

Sarah paged through the packet, then turned to her computer, calling up Shino's files and the base's personnel files, making the necessary changes.

The papers were rubber-stamped and placed in her outbox for another clerk to file.

"Everything looks okay, Lieutenant. You've been assigned quarters in barracks building Seven-C. Room eight."

"Thank you." Shino pulled herself to her feet. "Oh… I almost forgot to ask. Is Lieutenant Irene Hawke still stationed here? She's an old friend."

Sarah's fingers danced across her keyboard. "Yes. She's in barracks building Two-A, room three." And likely to be moved to the shipgirl barracks in the near future, because she'd been turned into a battleship. Poor girl.

"Thanks."

* * *

"Iku…"

"Oh, Ikuuu… wake up."

"Nya-heh," burbled Iku, clutching her body-length pillow tighter.

"Gross," a second voice remarked. "She's drooling."

" _Shh!_ "

"Why? I thought you wanted her to wake up?"

"Just watch, all right?"

"Iiiikuuu…"

Iku bleared awake. There was… the vague form of a submarine, standing beside her bed… probably Nimu, having dropped by to cheerfully tell her she'd slept into another duty shift, again. Bleah.

Except… it wasn't Nimu, she realized, as more of the fog of sleep left her.

It was… it was… _Iku_.

Staring at her with an utterly sinister, wide-eyed glare. " _GIVE ME YOUR SOUL,_ " her duplicate commanded in a guttural voice.

"Waah!" Iku instinctively scrambled backward, somehow managing to summon her rigging and initiate a crash dive – which only succeeded in tangling her with her blanket as she tumbled off the bed onto the carpet-covered, _hard_ concrete floor.

Quickly freeing herself from the blanket and tossing it out of range, she jumped back onto the bed.

Her doppelganger was still there. "Boo," Kumi said, a smirk forming.

Mogami was leaning against the far wall, snickering.

"Hey!" Iku directed to the cruiser, genuinely upset. "What are _you_ doing in Iku's room? This room is off-limits to anyone who isn't a submarine!"

After a quick thought, she amended, "Or an Admiral who _really_ wants Iku…"

Mogami abruptly choked, mid-snicker.

"Stop that," Kumi warned.

"Oh, I see," Iku knowingly teased. "You want it to be just the three of us. A threesome. Iku can do that."

She took a moment to appraise her duplicate. A reincarnate? "Or should that be two-and-a-half?"

"Quit being lewd," growled Kumi, smacking Iku on the back of her head.

"But… who is Iku, if not lewd?" the other submarine asked, grinning.

Mogami stared. "Scary how that does start to make some sense."

She'd been surprised to discover that Iku's quarters were almost entirely barren save for the standard furnishings and a Western-style bed, having half-expected the walls to be plastered with no end of pinups and suggestive posters.

If submarines did prefer to spend most of their time underwater, did that mean Iku rarely felt the urge to personalize her room?

 _Focus, idiot! Remember what she did to you!_

"Oh, yeah. Forgot why I came here." Thrusting an arm toward the sub, Mogami caught her by the collar of her swimsuit, pulling Iku close. "I've gotta pulverize you for what you did to me during the patrol, yesterday," she threatened, seemingly unconcerned that Iku had yet to dismiss her rigging.

"You can _try_."

Kumi tore them apart, holding them both at arms' length. "No," she told the cruiser. "You can't afford to get in any more trouble for a while."

Noting that Iku had taken to sticking her tongue out at Mogami, she continued. "That's why _I'm_ going to do it."

" _What!?_ "

"Are you aware how many times I've been assaulted or blown up over something _you_ did, Iku?"

Iku blinked. "No," she said at last. "But I don't even know who you are."

"You're kidding. I'm clearly your reincarnate!"

"Well, yeah. I can see that. But that's all I know. Never heard about you until now."

Kumi laughed – a bitter, short laugh. " _Wonderful_. I've nearly gone down for good a few hundred times because of you, and you never even knew I existed?"

"…No?" Iku wasn't sure how to respond.

"I'm not taking the blame for anything you do, anymore," Kumi vowed, punctuating it with a withering glare at her former self. "That's a promise. And I'm stationed here, now, so if anything happens, _I know where to find you._ Got it?"

"Y-yeah." Iku watched as her reincarnate stormed out of the room, taking Mogami with her.

"Hmph. She _still_ never told Iku her name."

* * *

 _Two-A-One… Two-A-Two… Two-A-Three._

Shino studied the tin identification plaque bolted to the right of the room's door. _Two-A-Three: Hawke, Irene. Lieutenant._ Yeah, this had to be the place.

She tapped the door chime's button. "Irene?" Shino called. It was early evening; surely no one would mind if she yelled a bit in the hall. "You in? It's me, Shino."

The door to Two-A-Four opened. "She's out."

"Oh, sorry. I just got here, and I didn't know her schedule," apologized Shino.

The man shook his head. "Don't worry about it. But, yeah, she's out on patrol."

 _Patrol?_ Wasn't Irene working in Administration? What the _hell_ was she doing on patrol?

Especially as there was only one real reason Naval Base San Diego would be running patrols – to keep an eye out for Abyssals.

She choked back the memories that surged at the mere thought of that name. Reliving the experience would only lead to imagining Irene in her place… and her dear friend not being anywhere near as 'lucky.'

"At last report, they'd encountered a fairly large Abyssal force, and over half the shipgirl fleet was sortied to help."

Shino brought her head up to stare incredulously at the man. _**WHAT!?**_

Why in the world did the guy sound so blasé about the idea of Irene being in so much danger, enough to require over half the base's shipgirls to sortie?

He had better have a _damn_ good reason, she decided. But she'd get to that in a minute or two.

"What ship is she on?" she bit out, anger building.

Oh, and that woman in Administration, too. Couldn't she have mentioned Irene was on patrol duty?

"Hm?"

Why wasn't he able to see how close she was to losing it? Wasn't he at all worried? "I said, _what ship is she on?_ "

Simple question. The Abyssals could easily tear any non-shipgirl ship apart given time and a chance… but at the moment, Shino wanted nothing less than a battleship's armor and firepower between her friend and the monsters.

"You don't–" The man must have finally recognized her rising frustration and anger, and rushed to give her a ship's name. "…uh, the USS _Iowa_."

Any ship's name, as it turned out.

She gave him a disbelieving look. "So what you're telling me is, they put her on a _decommissioned museum ship?_ "

"You really don't know," he said, understanding washing through his voice and features. "Hawke isn't on the _Iowa…_ she _**is**_ the _Iowa_. She's an Awakened shipgirl now."

Shino felt her jaw go slack. "What…"

"Hey, the Fleet's on the news!" someone shouted from the other end of the hall.

Irene's neighbor pushed his door open. "C'mon. I was watching the news before you dropped by; maybe it's the same broadcast. It'll be over by the time you get to the rec room or your quarters."

Reluctantly, she followed him into the room.

" _As you can see, the two mystery shipgirls are making short work of the Abyssals._ "

On the TV screen, a shipgirl with long blonde hair, wearing what remained of a set of Navy service khakis, cruised backward in a wide arc, the large turrets attached to her rigging loosing booming salvos at moderate intervals. Nearby, the second shipgirl – another long-haired blonde, who most definitely was _not_ wearing a Navy uniform – snarled, firing her entire complement of cannons at an Abyssal at once, obliterating it.

The latter shipgirl looked like… a bigger, more notably powerful version of Irene, complete with shipgirl rigging. But… what the _hell_ was she wearing?

"That's her, right?"

"Yes. The USS _Iowa_ in shipgirl form. And the other shipgirl is a new recruit – the German battleship, _Bismarck_."

 _German?_ Shino wondered, as the cameraman appeared unable to decide which shipgirl to focus upon, bouncing wildly between them while they sank a few more Abyssals.

" _We're told that these two shipgirls fit the configuration profile of battleships, but who they are is not known_ _at this time_ _. At last count, Naval Base San Diego had no battleship or carrier shipgirls._

 _We have reached out to the base for hopefully more information, and will keep you informed as it arrives._ "

"So…," Shino hedged, as the news program switched to a story about two destroyer shipgirls' attempts to get a cat out of a tall tree in southern Florida, "I think I'll head for the docks, and wait for her there." _Oh, and I'm gonna_ _ **kill**_ _her…_

* * *

"You're the one who wanted to wear a dress uniform to go on patrol."

Bismarck glared at the American battleship. "So what you're telling me, is I should expect to be shot at, every patrol?"

"Wouldn't hurt," Iowa replied. Before Bismarck could complain about the nonchalant dismissal, she added, "Remember what we're dealing with. Assume anything can happen." Including Abyssal forces appearing out of nowhere, obviously.

"…You think spending a bit more time in the pools'll fix it?" Bismarck kept her gaze fixed on the ocean ahead; anything to avoid dwelling on just how much the uniform had cost. The front was now little more than a towel, her right arm cradling it tightly to her chest.

Even worse, her optics had easily allowed her to spot a familiar station logo on one of the news choppers that had hovered far overhead during the battle. Her parents' first record of their daughter fighting the Abyssals was going to be tempered by her vain attempts to keep her uniform together.

"Go ahead and try it, let me know what happens. At worst, you'll only make it wet." Iowa had seen the shipgirl repair services at Yokosuka accomplish some impressive work, both with shipgirls _and_ their uniforms. Time to see if the base's services were on par with, or better than, Yokosuka's.

She scanned the horizon, in the direction of the base. "The docks should be coming into view any second… there. We're almost home, everyone," Iowa called to the weary and battered shipgirls trailing a short distance behind the two battleships.

Suddenly, she gasped, and narrowed her eyes. "My god… what's _she_ doing here?"

"Who?" asked Bismarck, concerned, as she tried to bring the docks into focus.

"An old friend of mine," Iowa answered, in an unusually quiet voice. "We pretty much grew up together – she's the main reason I got to learn Japanese – went through Basic together, and were stationed here at San Diego, until she was reassigned all the way across the country by luck of the draw. We tried to stay in contact, but…"

"Yeah," Bismarck murmured in understanding. "Any idea why she's here?"

"Guess I'm about to find out. In the meantime, I want you to take everyone to the pools. Those with the most damage and injuries have priority, get to go in first, and so on down the line. And yes, that includes your uniform."

* * *

She'd had far more than forty-five minutes to run through everything she wanted to say to Irene – or was that _Iowa_? Every argument. A counter to every possible response… Iowa… could give.

Then she stood toe-to-toe with the battleship, and very nearly completely blanked in the shipgirl's presence.

The television footage had only shown Iowa's size in relation to other shipgirls like Bismarck, not regular people. Where she and Irene had originally been roughly the same height, she now barely cleared the bottom of Iowa's impressive bust.

It was difficult to maintain her anger when she had to look _up_ a fair distance to meet her target's gaze. Or, when she could imagine Iowa effortlessly picking her up and snapping her in two like a string bean.

Iowa opened her mouth to speak, but Shino had been waiting to say the first words. "Why the hell are you a shipgirl?"

"Excuse me?"

Shino sighed, and began again. "You were supposed to be staying safe in the office, Irene. Not out fighting those things."

Iowa folded her arms, frowning. "If there's anything I can do to help fight the Abyssals, I'm gonna do it. Even if I never Awakened, I'd try to find a way." She watched as an unreadable expression surfaced on her friend's face. "You can't tell me _you_ never wanted to do whatever you could."

"I was on the light cruiser USS _Amarillo_ when they sank it." Shino's breath caught. "We were just running a shakedown cruise, with a skeleton crew and small shipgirl escort, and they swarmed us, regardless. There weren't enough supplies for an extended battle, and in the end, the Captain and I were the only survivors, along with our two shipgirl escorts."

"I've seen what they can do. I've been close enough to them to see the absolute hatred and malice on their faces."

Iowa relaxed her stance. "Is that when you decided to transfer back here? You figured I'd still be behind a desk, you'd join me, and never again have to risk going out into an Abyssal attack."

"Yeah…" The anger was beginning to return to Shino's voice. "…but then I get here, and you're a battleship, wearing that outfit–"

"Uniform."

" _Outfit_. You're going out to fight the Abyssals face-to-face. Willingly throwing yourself into that chaos. It's insane!"

"Okay. First–"

"They were showing your battle on the news. Live."

"Well, there's twenty dollars I owe Bismarck," Iowa muttered to herself.

"What?"

"Never mind." The battleship took a seat on the edge of the concrete dock, hoping to make the conversation easier for both of them, if Shino didn't have to crane her neck at a high angle to participate. "Shino. As someone… helped me to remember, right before I Awakened while in Japan, it's our duty to defend this country and anyone who requires it from threats like the Abyssals. To do whatever we can, as long as we're able."

Shino snorted, throwing her a skeptical look. "You were 'awakened' while in Japan."

"Yeah, at Yokosuka Naval Base. Why?"

A faint smirk. "Next, you'll be telling me you have tea every weekend with _Yamato_."

"Not _every_ weekend," the shipgirl sheepishly corrected. "Besides, tea's more Kongou's thing, anyway." What had that blend Kongou wanted her to drink been? At the time, she'd been torn between worrying that the eccentric fast battleship was trying to drug her in some way, and desperately wanting to avoid causing any sort of international incident, no matter how small.

She heard her old friend utter a pained whimper. "Shino?"

Shino, for her part, quickly turned so that Iowa couldn't see her face, and strode back toward the barracks.

"Shino!? What's wrong? What did I say?"

The Japanese woman didn't respond. Iowa let her shoulders slump. "Man…"

* * *

Her best friend – her oldest, closest friend – was… a shipgirl.

Shino buried her head further into her pillows. She had the day off, in theory, to familiarize herself with the base, and buy what food or supplies she needed… except she couldn't work up the desire to roll out of her cot.

The only reason Irene hadn't pulled her address and visited her this morning, she supposed, was that Admiral Treston had corralled his two battleships for an unplanned press conference, inevitable after Iowa and Bismarck's debut on the evening news. Those same channels were running the conference; she could see Iowa in a corner of her screen every time she raised her head, clearly uncomfortable in the same dress uniform Bismarck wore.

Irene had changed so much, inside and out, since the last time they'd met in person. She was a battleship shipgirl, where before the U.S. had none. Capital-I-important. Even going so far as to visit Japan and socialize with the shipgirls there, from the sound of it.

Did she belong in Iowa's circle of friends, anymore?

"… _here. A question, for miss Bismarck?_ "

" _Yes?_ "

" _Pardon my asking so, but as a German battleship, why would you want to enlist with the United States Navy?_ "

" _I go where I believe my help is needed the most,_ " Bismarck answered, simply.

 _Geez,_ Shino thought. _That sounds_ _ **so**_ _rehearsed._ Had to be.

There was no denying Iowa was better-equipped to deal with the Abyssals than Shino had been aboard the _Amarillo_. How many times had Irene fought, risked her life after becoming Iowa?

Irene _wanted_ to do it. To look the Abyssals in the eyes, and end the monsters' threat any way she could.

 _I'd never be able to do that. Charge in, guns blazing, ignoring the enemy fire passing inches away from me… and I don't think I'd be able to order anyone else to do it, either._

 _Why am I here?_

* * *

Author's notes: So a minor case of writer's block, the holiday season, and a shiny new game do NOT contribute to a helpful writing environment. Who knew?

Yes, for those who may be familiar with at least one certain male character using the name, "Shino" is also a female Japanese name.

The USS _Amarillo_ is a fictional ship. As I couldn't find any manifests or lists that indicate what ships might be currently docked at the actual NSA Saratoga Springs – and didn't want to relocate Shino to a different base just for the sake of having a manifest – I decided to play it safe and not use a ship that would most likely turn up somewhere else. There's a chance I may change this to an actual ship in a future edit.

Special thanks: Pyeknu, Kevin Hammel


	9. Where I Belong

Mogami gave the submarine seated across from her a perplexed look. "What do feathers have to do with it?" she asked.

"Hm?" Kumi – or 'Ikuni,' as she had officially been designated for the time being – spoke around a mouthful of food. The Admiral had called for increased patrols in light of the unexpected behavior Mogami had witnessed from the Abyssals; she'd just returned from a late-morning patrol with new-found relatives Nimu and Goya, and was _hungry_. Iku and Yuu were slated for the afternoon run.

"Feathers," repeated Mogami. "You've mentioned 'em several times while talking about what everyone's accused you of doing. Are feathers supposed to be naturally lewd, or something?"

The fork dropped from Kumi's hand, landing with an unnoticeable splatter amidst her food, as she gaped at the heavy cruiser. "No."

"But…"

Kumi was fighting a blush. " _No._ "

"Eh, whatever." Mogami shrugged.

They set to eating their lunches in silence, then, a quiet that was broken only when Kumi headed back to the line to reload her tray.

She returned nearly eight minutes later, grumbling loudly.

"What happened?"

Kumi eased herself into her chair. "Oh, some carrier was holding up the line, building a meter-high stack on her tray."

"Akagi." Mogami nodded, returning her attention to her food. "She's the only one who knows how to do that. Everyone else has to use more than one tray."

"Wh– That was Akagi?" Carefully, Kumi scanned the hall until she spotted the carrier in question, speaking with another carrier, whose hakama were white and cobalt to Akagi's white and scarlet. Kaga, perhaps? The two reportedly often accompanied each other.

She was grateful she hadn't actually said or done something Akagi might notice. Becoming Iku had squelched any desire she'd had to mouth off to random shipgirls, true… which was good, as she did _not_ want to imagine what could happen if she drew the ire of legends like Akagi or Yamato.

"So, if it's lunchtime," she said, hoping to change the subject somewhat, "why haven't I seen Yamato waiting in line?"

"I'm pretty sure they just have food delivered to the office, and Yamato and her sisters usually come by here later in the evening."

"…oh."

"Why?"

"Just curious, that's all," admitted Kumi.

"Or maybe…," a new voice interrupted. Suddenly, Iku was peering over Kumi's shoulder. "Maybe, Ikuni has a crush on Yamato. Is Iku right?" She laughed.

Kumi growled, leaping out of her chair to confront her former self. "No, I don't!"

"Could've fooled Iku."

Mogami shook her head as Kumi again growled, louder this time, and chased the laughing Iku from the hall. Wasn't Kumi technically falling victim to _her own teasing_?

She was beginning to have her doubts about Kumi's belief that Iku was the direct cause of all her problems. As far as the submarine shipgirl reincarnate was concerned, Iku was some sort of lewd mastermind, pranking many, many people across Japan every day.

Sure, Iku was indeed lewd, loved teasing and a good prank – and Mogami _would_ get her revenge, as soon as possible – but successfully hitting large numbers of people every day? The entire country?

No. Most likely, everyone was conveniently blaming anything even remotely lewd on Iku… and Kumi had to deal with all of the backlash.

Either that, or someone out there was committing… lewdness? Lewdity? Lewdishness? Ah, whatever… in Iku's name. Mogami shuddered at the thought.

The problem was that Kumi _also_ liked placing all the blame on Iku, regardless of who really was at fault.

Even had it been a simple matter of tracking a single person responsible for adding to Iku's infamy and Kumi's misery, would the two subs ever reconcile?

 _Eh, it's not like I wanna get them to make up,_ the heavy cruiser mused, snatching a nikuman from Kumi's 'abandoned' tray. What did she gain by doing that?

* * *

The photo was of a younger Shino and pre-shipgirl Irene, standing side-by-side in their dress uniforms on the RTC Great Lakes grounds.

They had _finally_ finished their eight weeks of Basic Training, and were waiting for their assignment.

Both were innocently grinning, glad they'd made it through that challenge. If you could survive Basic, you could survive anything, right? Nothing you faced as a naval officer would ever faze you again…

 _Wonder if they've changed the training to account for shipgirls._

Shino positioned the photo frame on a far corner of her desk. It was an unfortunate reminder that her friendship with Irene was currently in an awkward state – enough that she'd ever-so-briefly considered writing to the local newspaper's advice columnist, someone calling herself 'Miss Kongou.' The woman seemed to have some experience in dealing with shipgirls, at least.

Her office neighbor, a now-familiar woman with short brown hair, returned to sit at the desk to her right. "You could have told me that Irene was out on patrol," Shino stated. "Or, I don't know… a shipgirl?"

Sarah blinked. "You didn't–"

"I didn't ask. I know," she grumbled, rolling her eyes.

The brunette's gaze traveled to the photo resting on Shino's desk. "Let her go, now. Save yourself the grief."

Shino couldn't believe what she was hearing. "What?"

"It's better if you let her go. You continue being friends with her, and it'll only cause you more and more grief in the long run."

"She's my friend. My _best_ friend."

"And she's a shipgirl now."

"So?" One of the important lessons from Basic Shino had learned well was the need – and knowledge how – to control her temper. It wouldn't do to punch a co-worker in the face on her first day in the office.

On the second day, _maybe_.

Who was this woman, to suggest she abandon Irene simply because her friend had become a shipgirl? "Friends stay with each other, no matter what happens." Not wanting to hear how Sarah might respond to that, she changed tactics. "Okay, _talk_. What's this about? What do you have against shipgirls?"

"…They're so… undisciplined," came the eventual answer, Sarah's voice quieting. "They're… supposed to be war veterans. But they all behave like _children_. Even the Awakened… even they… _devolve_ sooner or later."

She shook her head. "I don't believe that." She'd seen quite a few shipgirls behaving maturely, weeks or months after their summoning.

There were the stories of eccentricities among the Japanese shipgirls – but the footage Japan had released of Yamato belied that. The battleship-girl was strong, resolute, willing to put her life on the line for those she defended. Shino could admire that… and on occasion, she'd found herself wishing to be more like Yamato, from watching the footage alone, or listening to the shipgirl speak at press conferences.

Now, _Naka_ , on the other hand…

And while acting immature was nothing new for Irene, there was no conceivable way it would become Iowa's permanent state of mind.

Shino, for her part, was rather grateful the shipgirls _didn't_ behave like some of the old war veterans she'd met, stubbornly insisting upon being stuck in their ways. It was easier to get along with someone who acted like a normal person and not, say, a commanding officer.

"So," she prodded, none too delicately. "You want to explain why you think that way? The entire story?"

"No." Sarah pulled the stack of papers from her inbox and set to work processing them.

Shino studied her for a moment, before sighing and attacking her own pile. _I've gotta work with_ _ **her**_ _?_

* * *

"Umm… Lieutenant Bismarck?"

The blonde-haired German battleship pivoted at the waist to find three young men approaching her – ensigns, if she read their ranks correctly. "Yes?" she inquired, peering down at them. How in the world did Iowa – who was taller than her, at that – _not_ spend entire conversations with normal people wondering if they were staring at her chest?

Especially after every TV station in southern California had run that footage of her.

"We just wanted to say… you looked great on the news," the apparent leader complimented her.

She stared, eyebrows raising imperceptibly.

"I-I mean, awesome."

More staring.

"At the press conference!" he finished, valiantly. Even the guy's two friends had joined her in staring at him. "…and, uh, the battle."

Silence.

 _I'd better save him before he injures himself with all this backpedaling._ "Thank you," Bismarck intoned, trying to make herself appear as impassive and intimidating as possible.

She chose to wait another long, awkward moment before adding, "You may go."

The three ensigns rushed to clear the hall, both of the men she'd thought more sensible than their leader dragging their friend away.

 _..._ _Huh. Guess the stoic act has its uses._ Applying a very slight horsepower-less spring to her step, she continued on her way to Iowa's quarters, near the other end of the hall. _I feel a little better now._

Less than a minute later, Bismarck stood outside room two-A-three, fishing the key her fellow battleship had given her from the uniform breast pocket beneath her nametag and unlocking the door. "Hey, Iowa, you here?" she called.

"I'm on the phone!" Iowa hissed, placing a hand over her cordless phone's receiver.

"Sorry," Bismarck apologized, quickly shutting and locking the room's door behind her, before heading for her favorite spot next to Iowa's couch and coffee table. She began scanning through the clutter on the table in the hopes of finding something of interest.

"Yeah, I'm here. No, I don't want to move, and that's the point! I–" The woman at the opposite end of the phone line raised her voice.

"I don't _care_ if it's a Rule. I shouldn't have to– dammit, she hung up on me!"

"What's going on?"

Iowa disgustedly slammed her phone back into its cradle. "It's Housing. They've been hounding me, saying that because I'm a shipgirl now, I've gotta move to the shipgirl barracks."

"That's what happens when you appear on the news. People start realizing you're there," the other battleship remarked. "Besides, the shipgirl barracks aren't _that_ bad. My room's almost like yours."

"But they're closer to the rear of the base," countered Iowa. The inexplicable stars in her eyes flashed. "I _started out_ there. Do you know how long it took me to work my way over to these quarters? Great location, near everything important?"

She stood. "And they want me to give it up over a fu–" Iowa hesitated, remembering her company. "…freaking Rule."

Bismarck snorted a laugh. "I don't care if you swear around me. I've heard _far_ worse at school."

"Ah. Well," she hemmed. "If you're sure. Anyway, I need to yell some more at Housing, so the movies'll have to wait till later. Want me to set up the PS4 for you?"

"Your PS4 games are all in Japanese. I can't understand them."

Iowa had the grace to look embarrassed. "Right. Forgot. Uh… what if I gave you a hundred, to run over to the store and pick a game you think looks interesting?"

"Are you trying to get me to swear? Because I will."

"That just leaves grabbing a pillow from the couch, lying on the floor, and thinking about how bored you are. Do you want to do _that_?"

The German shipgirl snatched one of the larger couch cushions, propping it behind her back. "Hey, I won't be too bored. I get to watch you argue with Housing."

"That reminds me," she said, at the sight of Iowa retrieving her cellphone – most likely, because Housing would reject any calls from her cordless phone's number. "What are Naka and Yamato up to?"

"Naka's unavailable for some reason, so I don't know what she's doing. Yamato's been extra-busy in the office, with Nagato and Mutsu out touring bases."

"…And Shino?"

Iowa frowned. "I think she's avoiding me. Plus, she's working in the Administration office, so I've gotta have a _really_ good excuse for being there, if I want to talk to her."

"Like being forced to move to the shipgirl barracks?"

"No. That's all normal runaround. SOP."

As Iowa proceeded to launch into a new tirade against whatever clerk had been foolish enough to pick up the phone, Bismarck tuned it out, paging through a new issue of _Time_ she'd found half-buried on the coffee table.

Hopefully, the magazine didn't feature any pictures of her from the battle. The last thing she needed was her mother firing off _another_ email about clothes.

And that had been in addition to the twenty-or-so-minute phone call she'd had to endure.

Her thoughts drifted back to the topic of Iowa and Shino. The solution, obviously, was to lock the two in a room. Convince them to talk, rather than let them continue to dance around the issues and each other.

 _If I've gotta play diplomat, I need a room I can access and control. That means my quarters… or here._

She quickly appraised the room. _I don't think they'll start breaking things – but if they do, better here than my place, right? I'm sure she's gonna end up having to move out, anyway._

 _Yeah._

"No, don't transfer me to _her_. I've already talked to her!"

 _Suuure, Iowa._ _If that was 'talking,' then I'm a paddleboat._

Only one hurdle remained. Convincing Iowa and Shino both to meet here at the exact same time. But she'd resolved to see the scheme through, so… she had to find a way.

* * *

"Lieutenant Kobayashi?"

 _Damn._ "Yes?" Shino glanced up from her attempts to determine which of the files on her desk could be passed to the file clerks for completion, after the end of her shift.

It never failed. She'd come to expect it, in fact, that someone would invariably pop up right before the end of her duty shift with problems requiring her attention.

That was the way of the universe.

Was she jaded? No, not at all. Never.

The aide sounded surprised. "One of the shipgirls is waiting for you in the hall. 'Bismarck,' I think she said her name was."

Bismarck wanted to see her? Why? Most likely, it had something to do with Iowa. Shino couldn't guess why the German shipgirl would want to meet with her, otherwise.

How had the base managed to summon Bismarck, anyway? Didn't the summoning ceremonies only call ships from the country of origin? She'd skimmed the roster of the base's shipgirls, and every girl except Bismarck had the 'USS' before her name.

 _I go where I believe my help is needed the most,_ Bismarck had stated at the press conference. Maybe, in warship limbo, or from wherever the spirits were being summoned, she'd seen that the United States was in dire need of battleship shipgirls, and chose to volunteer.

Evidently, Bismarck had also appointed herself to aid an old ship of a different kind – a relationship.

Shino pushed the files she'd separated into her outbox and double-checked her workstation to make sure she had been logged out. "I guess I'll see what she wants," she drawled, thanking the aide.

She found Bismarck leaning casually against the wall next to the office's door, one foot braced carefully against the baseboard to keep the shipgirl from pushing her entire weight into the wall. Ah. Bismarck must be experiencing the infamous 'adjustment period' she'd heard about, where shipgirls were transitioning between their original displacement and the weight of a 'normal' human girl.

Bismarck could pass for Iowa's sister, in theory, Shino mused – assuming one ignored the clear German cast to Bismarck's facial features. Both battleships sported long blonde hair, were quite tall and very… _developed_ , though that may well have been a battleship trait, if Yamato was any indication.

The shipgirl pushed herself away from the wall as she approached. "Walk with me, please," insisted Bismarck.

Shino fell in beside her. "Is this about Iowa?"

"…Yes," came the eventual answer. Had the girl actually fully considered this plan of attack? Or was Bismarck improvising? "Iowa… she told me that the two of you are very close, old friends. If you don't mind me asking, what happened? Is it because she's now a shipgirl?"

"A little," Shino said, exhaling. "But I'm mostly getting used to the idea that she's perfectly willing to go out there to fight those _things_ , or anything else they send you girls after."

Bismarck gave her a curious look. "You want to keep her safe."

"Yeah. But _Iowa…_ she'd never agree to that."

"No. Probably not."

The pair walked in silence for the next minute or two, Shino taking note of the path they were following.

"I take it I'm not supposed to notice you're leading me to Iowa's quarters."

Was that a blush? "Uh…"

Shino chuckled. "Don't worry. I'll go along with your crazy plan." For now.

Another five minutes found them outside Iowa's door. Bismarck pressed the button for the door chime. "Iowa?" she called. "It's me."

No answer.

Shrugging, the shipgirl drew her key.

"She gave you a _key_!? Irene never gave me the key to her room!" Granted, that had been eons ago, when she and Irene were closer to fresh-faced recruits afraid to bend the rules, but did that really matter?

Bismarck chose to say nothing in reply, pushing the door open.

The room was thoroughly dark, save for the various colored running and stand-by LEDs among Iowa's array of electronic devices, and the cold red numbers of a digital alarm clock.

She reached for the master wall switch. The shipgirl uttered a soft groan as the lights flickered on, to reveal that Iowa wasn't home. "Why is she not here?"

Shino couldn't resist a smirk. "You're new to this whole 'manipulating people' thing, aren't you?"

Suddenly, the familiar tweedle of an incoming Skype call alert echoed loudly through the room, startling the both of them. Seconds later, Iowa's HDTV flared to life with the image of Yamato and Musashi.

" _Iowa, I thought I would let you know… if you have received any… unusual emails from me, recently, my sister has been using my email account to send questionable emails._ "

 _She really_ _ **does**_ _know Yamato!_

" _Questionable?_ " Musashi sniffed. " _I, Musashi, have sent no 'questionable emails.'_ "

" _Need I remind you of the email you sent Kongou?_ "

It was then that Yamato noticed their audience. " _Ah… Bismarck-san? And…_ " She stage-coughed, to cover what embarrassment she felt at not having checked to see who was listening at the other end of the line before speaking. " _Is… is Iowa there?_ "

Bismarck nudged Shino, an apologetic look to her face. "You'll have to be the one to speak to them," she whispered. "I don't understand Japanese."

"Me? But… it's _Yamato_! And why does Iowa have Skype set to auto-answer calls, anyway?"

"It'll be okay. As for the calls, I think she's just being lazy."

"Tell me she's recording them. If she isn't…"

"I don't know."

" _I apologize for calling at an_ _inopportune_ _time,_ " concluded Yamato. " _Please tell Iowa I will call her back later._ "

"Wait!" Shino blurted in Japanese. "I'm sorry. I'm Kobayashi Shino, an old friend of Iowa's. It's an honor to meet you, Yamato-sama, Musashi-sama." She offered the two sister battleships a respectful bow, which they returned.

" _No, the honor is ours, Kobayashi-san._ "

Shino blushed. "Th-thank you."

"What's going on?"

At the unexpected question, Shino and Bismarck spun to face the opened door, where Iowa was likewise staring at them in surprise.

"Oh, hey, Shino. I _thought_ Bismarck was trying to get us together in the same room."

The frown that crossed Bismarck's lips treaded dangerously close to a scowl. "You knew? Is that why you're only now coming home?"

"Uh… no." Iowa stepped back into the hall to retrieve the quintet of overloaded paper shopping bags she'd left outside the door. "Went grocery shopping, and got a little carried away."

 _I should probably change the subject,_ Shino guessed. "Yamato called right after we came in, wanting to warn you about Musashi sending 'questionable emails' using her account."

"Oh?" Iowa raised her voice to be heard from outside her camera's range. "What kind of emails, Musashi?"

Musashi grinned. " _I'll send you copies._ "

" _Using your_ _ **own**_ _account._ " Yamato corrected, mildly annoyed at the prospect of her sister 'borrowing' her computer and email account again. " _That is, if the Admiral allows it, after this._ "

Shino took a moment to study Yamato. _She's always so composed, no matter what's going on around her._

Even when Musashi shoved her way around her sister to take center stage. " _They showed your battle and that press conference on the news._ " She made little effort to hide her sniggers, cupping her hands to her chest. " _And Bismarck's trouble with her uniform, too!_ "

" _Musashi!_ "

Iowa glanced sidelong at her fellow battleship. "She said–"

"I can guess!" snapped Bismarck. "Hmph. She wants to laugh about my uniform problems when she's wearing _that_!?"

" _Apologize to Bismarck-san._ "

" _'Apologize?' I, Musashi, do not know that word of which you speak._ "

Yamato merely turned a half-lidded stare on her, as if to say, "I'm waiting…"

" _Oh, all right! Sheesh._ " Under her breath, Musashi grumbled, " _If I'd been the name-ship…_ "

 _Huh? What did Yamato do?_

Musashi hung her head, Shino suspected, so that her sister wouldn't see her face when she apologized. " _I'm sorry, Bismarck._ "

"She said–"

"Tell her I said 'thanks,' Iowa."

 _What kind of patience must she have, to deal with what crazy things Musashi and the rest of the fleet over at Yokosuka must be trying to run past her?_

"So, Yamato," Iowa was saying. "How many Abyssals have you sunk, lately? Can't let me get too far ahead, eh?"

Or Iowa, for that matter.

" _She's been in the office almost all day, every day. Except for when the Admiral had us take the day off, a couple days ago, and put her in charge. You know that._ " Musashi frowned, a hint of distaste to her voice.

Affecting a slight flourish, Iowa mustered what she believed to be her best Darth Vader impression. "Nagato has trained you well, young battleship."

Neither of the Japanese shipgirls appeared to recognize the reference, as far as Shino could tell, which – for some reason – she found disappointing.

It was Yamato's turn to frown. " _Iowa, we have gone over this. Musashi, you as well. The Admiral is the one who requested I work in his office, not Nagato. My ability to deploy is unaffected, and I see no reason to refuse to follow the Admiral's orders._ "

 _That's it!_ Shino realized, once more impressed by Yamato's firm resolve. _**That's**_ _what I can do._ She watched as battleship Yamato, beset on two fronts, valiantly countered Musashi and Iowa's assault.

She could use Yamato as inspiration. A role model.

Not as a battleship – Yamato's reaction to an Abyssal threat would no doubt be to rush out, confront and sink it – but as a person. The attitude. The confidence. The shipgirl's unyielding conviction.

All she had to do was ask herself how Yamato would handle a particular situation.

No, wait. She couldn't continue to avoid, to hide from, the Abyssals. Nearly everyone she presently knew was a shipgirl; she'd be a fool to believe those monsters would never again be a concern.

Especially if her dear friend were lost at sea…

She had to regain her courage and grow _stronger_. Even when the best she could do was man the weapons on a 'normal' ship, in battles where that ship was little more than a giant target for the Abyssals.

 _I'm not a shipgirl, but I need to become as much like Yamato as possible, so that I can help everyone!_ Shino mentally vowed.

And then what felt like a whole _fleet_ of battleships slammed into her forehead.

She was dimly aware of collapsing, everyone calling her name… then beginning to float upward as a warm golden glow enveloped her, just before she lost her battle with consciousness.

* * *

" _Shino!?_ "

" _Kobayashi-san!?_ "

The Japanese woman's body was cocooned within a golden aura, visibly beginning to change as it slowly ascended.

" _She is Awakening,_ " Yamato indicated. " _Iowa, this is exactly what happened when you Awakened._ "

"It is? But how… why… _her_?"

Yamato didn't have an answer for her.

As quickly as the changes had begun, however, the process abruptly ended a few minutes later – catching Iowa off-guard when the golden light guttered then vanished, leaving Shino and her newly-formed rigging to drop to the floor like a stone.

She caught Shino before the newly-Awakened shipgirl's body could hit the floor. The thought triggered a reflexive wince… as an Awakened shipgirl, Shino's landing would severely crater the underlying concrete. Another thing for Housing to hold over her head. They'd accuse her of _deliberately_ trashing the room.

Shino's hair had shifted from black to a considerably unruly, short chocolate-colored mop.

Her uniform was the same as Yamato's – standard, for the _Yamato_ -class? – except Shino's stockings matched, she flew no flags, and a female archer's muneate was secured around her chest. An armored flight deck was strapped to her left arm, and her somewhat impressive armament attached to a small clamp around her waist.

Iowa raised the unconscious shipgirl into her webcam's field of view. "Yamato? What do you make of…"

Both Yamato and Musashi had gone pale. " _Shi-_ _ **Shinano!?**_ " they stammered as one.

* * *

Author's notes: Just as "Haruka" is an alternate female-name reading for "Yamato" (大和), "Shino" is an alternate female-name reading for "Shinano" (信濃). However, since "Shino" isn't that far removed from "Shinano," that, plus the other clues, may have already led several of you to guess what Shino's fate was going to be.

"Musashi" (武蔵) doesn't have an alternate female-name reading, that I've found. At the time I wrote Chapter Two, I intentionally picked a name (Misa) for Musashi's reincarnate that _sounded_ close to "Musashi," without hopefully being obvious.

Special thanks: Pyeknu


	10. The More We Drift

"But, Admiral…!"

Musashi and I reflexively took a step back as the Admiral slammed the palms of his hands down onto his desk. "My decision is final! I simply cannot spare the both of you for a trip to San Diego."

I steeled myself. "Nagato said that with luck, she and Mutsu expect to be back by tomorrow afternoon. You will only be down by two battleships, as before."

"Two of our most powerful battleships, you mean. Yamato, you _know_ the Diet – among others – will go ballistic if I allow you to leave the country."

Musashi stepped forward before I could form a reply. "Okay, new plan. Yamato stays here, and I go by myself."

"Musashi!"

"…or not," she decided, withdrawing again as the Admiral shot her a mild glare.

"You're still on probation for the bar, and that stunt with the APC, Musashi," he reminded her. "And what are these reports I've been receiving about you sending questionable email using your sister's account?"

"It's… It's nothing, sir," she lied, peripherally leering at me as if she thought I'd been the one to file all those reports.

"You are not to leave the base without a minder. And no, Yamato cannot serve as your minder." After a moment's consideration, he added, "Correction – Yamato or Misa."

Musashi's expression fell; I'm guessing the thought occurred to her at the same time it did the Admiral. "You let Sendai and Naka go to New York."

"There's a difference. Naka has experience working as an envoy _and_ can speak English. Can either of you do that?" he asked, with a pointed glance at me.

I suspected he had more faith in Naka's ability to keep Sendai in check than my ability to do the same with Musashi.

The Admiral's voice softened. "I know you're both worried about your sister. I've been in contact with Naval Base San Diego, and I'm told Vestal and Prometheus have given her a once-over." He paused to check his notes. "Shinano hasn't regained consciousness, and they're not sure why… they think it may have something to do with the fair amount of work she needs to get her properly sea-worthy, much less combat-ready. Other than that, however, she appears to be fine."

A small surge of anger at the thought of my little sister being refitted in an American shipyard rose, and I squashed it. As a returned Imperial Japanese Navy warship, no matter how aware I was that it was 2016, the war was long over and the U.S. and Japan were allies and friends, my old wartime mentality could still slip in under cover of strong emotion if I wasn't careful.

"Are they going to repair and refit her?" I asked, trying to keep my voice flat.

"Yes. Were she here, we would have to negotiate with the Diet to cover her repair costs. I'm not even sure they _would_ allow it." He exhaled. "Admiral Treston's crews are perfectly willing to do whatever it takes to get Shinano to one hundred percent operational capacity, so you both can rest easy."

"I still don't like it," grumbled Musashi.

I had to agree. "Neither do I."

The Admiral chuckled. "I can always count on a shipgirl's devotion to her sisters. Everything will turn out fine, I promise." He stood, and carefully guided us to the door. "I assure you, any information we receive, you will be second in line to hear it. Now, relax. Go back to your barracks, and leave the worrying to me. That's an order, by the way."

Then the door to the Admiral's office shut behind us, and we were alone in the main office.

"What are you gonna do?" The somewhat sour expression Musashi wore told me she wasn't ready to let this drop.

I shook my head. "I do not know. I was planning to go to the baths before dinner."

Musashi merely grunted in response.

"Musashi," I insisted, in all seriousness. "Before you do what you are intending, tell Misa what has happened. She needs to know."

Her eyes widened. "Yeah, she does." Sometimes, it seems as if Musashi really does think of Misa as a twin… someone who should know her thoughts without being told. An actual sister, not just another version of herself, the person she supposedly was going to become.

The Admiral had been correct. As shipgirls, we're always close to our sister-ships. We may bicker or fight, like sisters tend to do, or have to deal with the crazy things they've done – but we know that when we truly need them, they _will_ be there.

We _should_ be there for our little sister. Even if we have to wait by her side for a week or more until she regains consciousness.

Yes, I'm aware we're being impulsive, but if there _is_ some way we can help her…

"I need time to think," I told Musashi, heading for the door that led outside. "If you _are_ going to do something, try to avoid making anyone want to call me, okay?"

"Y-yeah."

* * *

 _We know extremely little about Kobayashi-san, other than the fact that she's an old friend of Iowa's. And now, she's become our little sister, Shinano._

I hesitated, my hand resting on the doorknob to my room.

 _We should not deploy without intelligence. Gather all the information we can, before making any moves._ Maybe, early tomorrow morning, I can try calling Iowa to ask some questions.

Easing the door open, I peered around it into the room, flipping the master switch to turn on the lights.

No visitors. Nothing had been moved, or tampered with, that I can tell.

I don't keep anything in my quarters that I'd want to avoid falling into the wrong hands, so to speak… but with a certain submarine perfectly willing to pull pranks on me, a little paranoia never hurts. Besides, there's also always the chance Musashi may have done something to my computer or PS4.

My crew weren't detecting anything unusual, either.

Well, I'm only here to grab my bathing supplies and one of my yukata, so a thorough check can wait for later.

 _Shinano_ was intended to be the third _Yamato_ -class battleship after _Musashi_ , until losses sustained at the Battle of Midway convinced the Imperial Japanese Navy to convert her to an aircraft carrier. The conversion ended up being rushed – which is likely why Kobayashi-san had been wearing a carrier's muneate and rigging over a _Yamato_ -class uniform – and she'd been forced to deploy before she was completed.

The Admiral's report _had_ stated she needed 'a fair amount of work.'

Warily, I padded across the room to my closet, and slid the door open. When nothing leapt out at me, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Huh. Maybe I am being a little too paranoid. The Admiral's been keeping the subs on active patrols lately, anyway, and for all I know Iku's been busy getting to know her reincarnate.

I let my gaze drift along the rack.

At the left end, kept distant from everything else, was a plastic garment bag.

Well before the "let's get Yamato to have fun" scheme, Misa and Naka had teamed up to somehow get a surprisingly high-quality and accurate cosplayer's copy of Naka's full uniform in my size.

How they managed to get my measurements, I don't know. I suppose they could have talked Nagato into letting them get the information from our tailor.

I've managed never to wear the thing.

Misa had insisted, innocently enough, that she'd wanted me to see what cosplaying was like. Sure, okay, but why go through all the trouble of ordering an exact copy of _Naka's_ uniform? Couldn't they have just special-ordered a larger costume from whatever TV series is popular, these days?

And Naka? Who knew what her reasons for being involved in that scheme were?

My yukata and kimono are at the opposite end of the rack, after the tailored gray dress suits I wear at the office. I smiled in spite of myself, letting my gaze linger on the suits. Three identical outfits, just like…

I felt my mind screech to a halt.

…just like… Nagato, Mutsu and I, when we're wearing the suits.

 _So Nagato_ _ **is**_ _turning you into her clone,_ Iowa had said.

Nagato… she… she isn't doing it _intentionally_ , for the most part, but… the end result remains the same.

I _am_ a clone. Or incredibly close to one.

Dazed, I shut the closet door and staggered over to my bed, falling face-down into my pillows.

I've been so focused upon carrying out my duty, following everything the Admiral and Nagato say to the letter. Nagato wants me to look and act the part, both as an aide, and a representative of the Admiral's office.

Haven't I become that aide, that representative?

What should I do? I'm not going to quit working at the office – something like this isn't enough to make me want to abandon a job the Admiral assigned me.

Can I change the way I perform that job? _Should_ I?

I turned right-side up, staring at the ceiling.

Ten minutes later – according to my alarm clock – I wasn't any closer to finding an answer. _What if I… what was that term, again? 'Reaffirm my identity?'_

* * *

I am the battleship _Yamato_ , formerly of the Imperial Japanese Navy, and now serving as a shipgirl with the Japan Maritime Self-Defense Force while stationed at Yokosuka Naval Base in Japan.

I have no problems with being Yamato. I _want_ to be Yamato. But I am _also_ Kinoshita Haruka, sixteen years old, daughter of Kinoshita Takashi and Minami.

We lived in the Shinjuku ward of Tokyo. Dad was a diplomat, and Mom worked as an Assembly aide at the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building, so I grew up around a lot of government officials and politicians.

That had rarely been fun, having to always be on your best behavior around people who said, "Aren't you just the cutest little girl?" far more than Grandma or Aunt Manaka ever did. Would you believe someone even used "She's growing like a weed!" once or twice?

Mom occasionally let me accompany Dad on work-related trips overseas, which helped me learn a small amount of English – and maybe French, if I can remember the words.

Dad was also an incurable World War Two otaku. He had two rooms dedicated to all sorts of memorabilia and models, from all the countries that participated in the war… but primarily featured warships. His pride was a large scale model of me– er, the _Yamato_ , which he still has to the day.

…Huh. I wonder what Dad thinks when he looks at that model, now?

I haven't heard from them since I left for Japan. The group that arranged this claimed I was going to have a secure way to privately contact Mom and Dad, but perhaps they weren't able to get everything set up and locked down the way they wanted. I'll have to ask the Admiral if there's some other method I can use to get a letter out.

My email account isn't an option, when certain other people can access and read my mail, if they think it's necessary. Nagato has that authority, for example.

Where was I? Oh, yeah.

We lived in Shinjuku until 2011. I was ten – it had been early in March, and my birthday is in June – and attending classes at the private Zephyr Girls' Academy.

The sky had turned orange by the time I reached our front gate; I knew without looking at my phone's clock or watch that I was _extremely_ late returning home after school.

 _Maybe Mom's tied up with a late Assembly session,_ I hoped.

"Haruka."

Yeah, I didn't have much confidence in that actually being the case.

She patiently watched me cross the last few feet of the walkway from her seat on the bench on our porch. "You _know_ you're supposed to call if you plan on running late."

I lowered my head. "I'm sorry. We got caught up in trying to drag Chie away from the new kittens at the pet store, and Rika kept saying we had plenty of time to visit that new takoyaki yatai in the shopping center."

"That doesn't excuse you from paying attention to the time and calling, young lady."

"Yes, Mother."

"Good." She patted the bench next to her. "Come here, and sit with me."

I set my bookbag near the door and did as she asked.

Mom hemmed, fidgeting, her words coming haltingly. "Haruka-chan… dear, how… How would you feel about moving to the United States?"

"Moving?" I imagine I must have paled at that point.

"Yes. Your father's been appointed as the Japanese consul to Los Angeles. They're expecting us to move there."

When I didn't reply, she hugged me. "It won't be so bad. I know you and your father have some experience in speaking English – I'm the one who has to learn it from scratch. You'll make new friends, and be able to write Rika and Chie about all the new experiences you're having."

What!? _Seriously?_ I pulled away from her, unable to believe what I'd heard. "It won't be so bad? Mother, it's moving _out of the country!_ I-I have to change schools, get used to a… a completely new place, and…" By now, I was desperately reaching for what arguments I could find. "Can't I stay with Aunt Manaka, or Grandma? My English isn't _that_ good." It'd still be moving, technically, and I would have to change schools either way, but at least living with my aunt or grandmother wasn't moving to a different country!

"No, dear. You may be almost eleven, but you're not old enough to take care of yourself practically full-time. Your aunt and grandmother are both busy, and don't have the time to supervise you."

I slouched in my seat. "Why do _we_ have to go? Can't Father just go by himself, and fly back and forth like always?"

"Haruka, sit up straight. Now, I'm perfectly aware this is a major upheaval for you, and I apologize. You should know, however, that your father is very excited about this assignment, and wants us to be there with him."

Mom saying that Dad's 'very excited' about something is almost always an understatement. I grimaced. What possible reasons did Dad have for being so enthusiastic about this?

"He needs to know that he has our support."

And with that, the argument was pretty much over. Oh, I'd known from the start I was obviously doomed. How many kids can talk their parents out of moving? You have to give it your best effort, regardless.

Despite the large size of our house, we had everything boxed up and shipping in unexpectedly short time; even Dad's extensive World War Two collection was quickly and carefully crated and headed westward with us.

Time to begin a completely different life on the other side of the ocean.

I'll admit to being awed at how much _bigger_ our new house is. My bedroom alone is larger than I expected! It's an okay-looking house at the back of a gated community, a few streets from the beach.

The next day, I took my school placement test.

In Japan, I'd attended private academies. Here, in Los Angeles, Mom and Dad were enrolling me in public school instead. The test claimed I was of the sixth-grade level, so off I went to Westfield Peak Elementary, a few days later… one of those days spent with Mom exploring stores we'd never visited for new clothes and school supplies.

"This is Haruka," my teacher introduced me, as we stood before the class. "She just moved here from Japan and is still learning English, so don't let me catch any of you giving her a hard time, okay?"

"I'm Haruka Kinoshita. Pleased to meet you," I said, suppressing the urge to bow, as I'd been instructed, and inwardly winced at my accented English. If I'm gonna live in the U.S., I need to improve the way my English sounds.

Hey, my Dad's a diplomat. I know how important it is to make sure you're properly understood.

My school life turned out to be just as dry in the U.S. as it had been in Japan. I continued to learn English, kept quiet and tried not to stand out. I'd make friends now and then, though most of them didn't stick around.

Somehow, that seemed to be enough to get me through to my junior year of high school.

Leaving junior high behind, for me, meant I was finally done playing catch-up and could start to pick classes I liked. Art, drama, home-ec… the latter, because I'd always liked to cook. I haven't tried doing it lately, however, because I'm not entirely sure of all the adjustments I need to make in cooking for one shipgirl – me – much less a group of shipgirls.

We were on summer break from Herriot High when I found _that_ magazine.

" _Again!?_ " I exclaimed, staring at the cover of the magazine in disbelief.

Cheryl was at my side in an instant. "What? They out of _J-14_ , or something?" asked the brunette, laughing.

I rolled my eyes. Suggesting I read the celebrity gossip magazines was a tired old joke of hers. "I wouldn't know."

"Then what…" She glanced at the magazine in my hands, the cover featuring an artist's rendering depicting not-yet-summoned 'Yamato' and 'Enterprise' in full rigging leading shipgirl forces in battle against each other over what had to be the Pacific – and breathed an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh. "…oh. Several dozen magazines in the aisle, and she zeroes in on the _one_ magazine that has something to do with shipgirls. You need professional help, Haruka."

That, too, had become an old joke.

Cheryl Nelson was the only long-term friend I'd made, in all the years I'd lived in Los Angeles.

Given how suddenly I'd had to leave, I really have to wonder what Mom and Dad told her to explain everything.

I ignored the jab. "Why do artists always insist on drawing Yamato as some sort of geisha?" Indeed, 'Yamato' was dressed as a full geisha, wearing her hair tied back Shimada-style, the proper makeup, and an elaborate but bulky pastel flower-patterned kimono, that implied it should be preventing her from being able to move whatsoever.

At the time, I had never been able to explain why seeing shipgirl Yamato depicted as a geisha felt _wrong_ to me, as did the fact that this Yamato wore her third main gun turret strapped to her right forearm.

"Because she's Japanese?" Cheryl shrugged. When I threw her an unamused look, she raised her hands in a warding gesture. "Kidding!"

"None of the Japanese shipgirls that have been summoned are dressed like that," I informed her.

"Well, you told me people view Yamato as a symbol of Japan. Don't people outside of Japan tend to think of geishas when they hear the words, 'Japanese woman?'"

I refrained from snorting at her use of 'air quotes.' "I don't know…"

"Okay. Say she _does_ show up. What're you gonna do if she shows up dressed like that? Like that picture?"

"She won't."

Cheryl raised an eyebrow. "You're sure of that."

"…Yes." And I was. Very much so, although I wasn't at all sure why. Obviously, there was nothing stopping Yamato or any other shipgirl from dressing as a geisha if and whenever she wanted. It just did _not_ work as a regular uniform.

"I bow to the shipgirl expert," she snarked, doing precisely that. "Fair warning – if Yamato does show up, and she looks like a geisha, I'm gonna be laughing about it for at least a month."

The magazine was plucked from my hands, Cheryl giving it a quick scan. "We both know you're gonna buy this no matter what you think of the pictures, so can we go? Mom wants to set up a group call with Mark tonight, and I don't know when she plans on doing it." Mark was her older brother by nine years, serving in the U.S. Air Force. I think she said he was a Major.

"Okay."

* * *

Did I win that bet? She'd say that because I'm Yamato, it either doesn't count, or I cheated somehow.

Maybe I did, I mused, surveying what I could see of my uniform.

Has skimming through my life helped in any way, other than making me miss my family and friends? …I don't know.

"Come on, Yamato. _Think!_ " I growled.

All of this began when I wished to be there for my little sister, to help Shinano in any way necessary. Before, or after she regains consciousness.

But I can't. I have to wait for what little news Iowa and her Admiral send our way. It's… it's so _frustrating_!

If Musashi or Misa, or anyone else here at Yokosuka needed help, I wouldn't hesitate to do whatever I could for them.

And yet… that wasn't entirely true, was it? There's something I could have done to potentially help Musashi and Misa, that I've been avoiding.

"The upgrade," I breathed, sitting up.

One of our training exercises had given me reason to worry about my sisters. Musashi was reckless, Misa needed work on her reaction time and scanning for threats like incoming torpedoes. Both would surely benefit from radar, I'd thought, if only the Diet allowed and funded it. Plus, it would ease a fair amount of my worries.

I had approached the Admiral with the idea, only to learn that the Diet was _already_ dangling those possible upgrades for my sisters before me, in an effort to convince me to undergo an upgrade of my own. Obviously, they want me in peak form for when they ultimately have me air-dropped onto Abyssal HQ.

I may not be able to do anything for Shinano at the moment… but if there's a chance I can get Musashi and Misa the upgrades they need, all the better!

That's it, then. Swinging my legs off the bed, I walked to my full-length mirror to make sure my hair and uniform were presentable.

The Admiral had warned me there was a risk of my behavior or appearance changing as a result of the process. That's a chance I have to take. I'll still be the same person, the same shipgirl. Surely, if any changes do occur, they won't be drastic. I think I might _need_ some change, anyway.

Hoping to avoid giving myself a chance to reconsider the decision, I hastily grabbed my phone and pressed the speed-dial button for the Admiral's number.

…dialing… dialing… aww, voicemail. "Admiral, this is Yamato. After some consideration, I have decided to accept the offer from the Diet to be upgraded. I am heading out to speak with Akashi now."

* * *

Unsurprisingly, the Admiral was waiting for me beside Akashi, when I arrived at the workshop. Preferring to walk everywhere on-base while others – such as the Admiral, of course – use transports does have disadvantages.

"Yamato," he was quick to acknowledge me. "Are you certain you want to go through with this? You aren't just doing this for Musashi and Misa's sake, when the Diet never guaranteed they would back those upgrades?"

I guess I don't have to tell Akashi why I'm here. "Yes, I am doing this for Musashi and Misa's sake." The Admiral had to be wondering whether or not my decision was a knee-jerk reaction to being unable to visit or help our newly-Awakened sister, but was avoiding any mention of it to be safe. "However, I also feel as though this is something I need to do for myself."

Akashi stepped forward. "Last chance, Yamato. If you've got any doubts, back out. The upgrade's permanent, and can't be reversed."

"No," I declared, shaking my head once. "I have no doubts. I, Yamato, shall follow through with it."

"That's the battleship spirit," Akashi grinned, the smaller repair ship raising an arm to slap me on the back, then using that hand to guide me into the workshop.

The Admiral sighed. "Keep me informed, Akashi."

* * *

Shipgirls could always be counted upon to make even a normal day end in completely unexpected ways.

Admiral Treston wearily set the daily report down, taking a moment to study the honey-haired shipgirl standing on the opposite side of his desk in depth.

A few days ago, an old friend of Iowa's had arranged to be reassigned to the base… and during a video conference call with Yamato and Musashi, of all shipgirls, had promptly Awakened as a Japanese carrier.

Not that he was complaining; it was as good an excuse as any to set up regular communications with Goto and Yokosuka.

Shinano was in dry-dock, the _Yamato_ -class carrier being properly completed and retrofitted. In the meantime, Yamato had submitted herself for an upgrade, according to Goto. The Diet had offered her the procedure, claiming that if she accepted it, they'd consider upgrades for the Musashi twins Yamato believed were necessary.

Typical bullshit attempt by government officials to talk Yamato into accepting improvements, and Goto and Yamato knew better than to take it at face value. Still, if there was any chance the Diet would bother to help her sisters… why not force their hand?

He wished her luck. Politicians were… well, painful on the level of pulling multiple teeth at once to deal with, in his experience.

Iowa and Bismarck had busied themselves with the former's forced move to the shipgirl barracks – a move that was bound to become quite a bit more chaotic, if his guest had anything to say about it.

"I was afraid they'd send _you_ ," he groused.

The heavy cruiser, Prinz Eugen, flashed him a winsome smile. "Now, now, Admiral, that's not a nice thing to say. When they told me my big sister Bismarck was here, how could I stay away?"

* * *

Special thanks: Pyeknu, Kevin Hammel, Fred Duck


	11. Strategic Positioning

"Now, now, Admiral, that's not a nice thing to say. When they told me my big sister Bismarck was here, how could I stay away?"

Prinz Eugen's vibrant smile wilted on noticing the Admiral was clearly unimpressed.

Admiral Treston ran a hand through his thinning gray hair. "Let's not mince words, Eugen," he told her. "You and I both know why they sent you." Who better to convince Bismarck to abandon her commitments and depart for Germany, than her 'little sister?'

The heavy cruiser did, in fact, somewhat resemble a younger version of Bismarck – her darker blonde hair secured on each side of her head by small anchor-shaped ornaments, creating an unusual twin-tail look. Like Bismarck, her 'main anchor' descended from her collar to rest above her breasts. Eugen's uniform was perhaps more modern and casual, as opposed to Bismarck's pseudo-officer's uniform.

Or rather, the uniform Bismarck had worn after Awakening, the first time she'd stood in his office on the exact spot Eugen presently occupied. The blonde-haired battleship had since taken to wearing U.S. Navy uniforms full-time.

It was hard to believe the short-skirted shipgirl trying her best to appear innocent could be mistaken for Bismarck _now_. Easier to confuse one ship for another than to think a younger shipgirl wearing an almost entirely dissimilar uniform to be an older shipgirl from a different ship class and profile.

He cleared his throat, forcing her to meet his gaze. "You should be aware that she's the Awakened, and not summoned, version of Bismarck."

"They did say that was most likely the case. But it doesn't matter," declared Eugen, the shipgirl setting her jaw. "She's still Bismarck, and she's still my big sister."

"Very well; I won't stop you from meeting or speaking with her… but, Eugen? The decision to go to Germany must be entirely up to Bismarck. You are not to badger, harass, guilt-trip or otherwise coerce her decision or obtain it through deceit. I do not want any incidents, _if they can be avoided_. Is that understood?"

Eugen swallowed, but recovered quickly, nodding. "Sir."

"I'll hold you to your word. You are dismissed."

He silently watched the shipgirl leave his office. There was… one other reason he had been concerned about Eugen's presence on-base, that he dared not tell the cruiser – and, by extension, Bismarck. Unfortunately, that there were shipgirls involved meant the more he tried to keep that secret, the more likely Eugen was bound to discover it…

* * *

Bismarck rolled her eyes. One thing she'd learned about Iowa in their short time working together, was that the American battleship would _gladly_ take any opportunity given her to gripe.

Loudly. And often, with swearing.

Maybe it was something Iowa had picked up from her crew.

Iowa's faerie crew had effectively removed one of her reasons to complain about the move; packing and moving her property across the compound became a quick and painless matter, when all Iowa had to do was unplug everything and allow her faeries access to every drawer, cabinet, the closet and refrigerator.

In no time, her crew had everything squared away aboard-ship, leaving the two battleships to simply walk to Iowa's new – old? – Housing-mandated quarters. Extremely handy, that.

"No, plug it in the bottom outlet," Iowa called to the pair of faeries who were trying to wrestle the plug for her main power strip into a wall socket. "It's easier if I don't have to work around cables when I plug something in."

"Hey!" Defiantly, one of the pair abandoned the plug to gesture with both arms toward the absolute _mess_ of cables and additional power strips trailing from the main strip. "Hey hey hey hey."

"What? I went from the bottom up on all those, too."

Bismarck glanced up from her efforts to bring a semblance of organization to Iowa's kitchen. "I can't believe you're making them run your cables." The faerie seated on her shoulder nodded vigorously in agreement.

"These guys regularly deal with things like firefights at sea. Plugging in a power strip is _nothing_ compared to that."

"Hey." Iowa's faeries preened for a moment, until the actual intent of the battleship's words hit them. " _Hey!_ "

 _Guess I'd better try to change the subject before she leads her crew to mutiny,_ Bismarck thought, bemusedly. "Any word on Shino?"

Iowa sat cross-legged against her bed, pulling one of her A/V odds-and-ends boxes close with the intent of digging through it for another extension cord. "No. As far as I've seen, repair ships don't like anyone bugging them about their projects. They won't tell me anything, even _if_ I'm her best friend."

"You probably need to be at least an Admiral or better for that."

"I shouldn't have to be."

"Yeah, well… I don't think there's much we can do about that. You said they wouldn't even keep Musashi informed, and she's… 'Shinano?' Her sister."

Iowa leaned back until her head hit the bed, straw-colored hair billowing out around her, and forcefully exhaled – enough to start the ceiling fan slowly rotating. "Akashi won't tell me or Musashi how Yamato's doing, either."

"But she _will_ tell their Admiral."

"I don't know."

The silence that followed was broken by Bismarck's faerie. "…Ey? Ey."

"Yeah," the battleship agreed. "It's depressing, yes."

Well, maybe she could do something to take their minds off their dry-docked friends. "…Anyway, as you're living next door to me and all, now…" Good thing that in mirroring her previous quarters, Iowa had arranged her HDTV and giant speaker towers _opposite_ the wall they shared. Bismarck awkwardly cleared her throat. "Umm. My crew and I, we… put together a housewarming gift, sort of."

"A gift?" Instantly, Iowa was on her feet, practically rocking back and forth in anticipation. Bismarck wondered whether or not her eyes were playing tricks on her when the stars in the other battleship's eyes actually appeared to _sparkle_.

Time to soldier on. "We stayed up last night, trying to cook all the burgers and fries we were able to manage."

"Gotta be better than what they're having in the mess today," Iowa mused.

Bismarck made a face. "Tell me it isn't another 'theme day.' I stopped checking."

"Eh. At least they're putting in the effort to add some variety. The destroyers love it."

"They would."

"So… did you bring it, or is it over at your place?" asked Iowa, hardly in the mood to endure another round of the usual gripes about the base's mess.

"My place. After I caught a few of my crew trying to sneak off with some of it…"

"Ey! Ey ey."

Bismarck glared at the faerie on her shoulder. "Don't try to deny it. All you guys had to do was wait a little bit longer. I was gonna fix something for us after we finished."

"Ey?"

"You _could_ have asked. It's not like we're out at sea and hurting for rations."

"Ey. Ey."

A snort. "Yeah, right. If you thought rations were better than my cooking, you wouldn't have–"

The faerie smirked. "Ey."

"What do you mean, _target practice_?" Bismarck indignantly squawked.

"Old joke," Iowa observed, extending a hand to pluck the smart-aleck faerie from her perch. "It's still not a good idea to piss off your ship, though."

"…Ey."

"And on _that_ note, we're breaking for burgers," the senior battleship deliberated. Pausing briefly to give the assembled faeries a chance to return to their ships, Iowa allowed Bismarck to take the lead, both shipgirls stepping out into the hall.

Iowa turned to lock her door, testing the doorknob to be sure. "You _did_ make more than enough for the both of us, right?"

"Yeah, and the faeries, too." Bismarck peered down at herself. "Well, _most_ of them," she amended, archly.

The only other person in the hall was an unfamiliar, younger blonde-haired shipgirl leaning against the wall between the doors to the two battleships' quarters, her eyes and grin widening as they approached.

Iowa narrowed her eyes. The mystery girl looked a bit like a young Bismarck, come to think of it. And her gray, black and red uniform sported patches with _German_ text. "Umm… Bismarck?"

"Oh, hi, Eugen," Bismarck absently greeted, the only indication she'd noticed the newcomer.

She almost reached her door before realization struck. "Eu- _Eugen!?_ " she spluttered, whirling about.

"Ältere schwester Bismarck!" cried Eugen, leaping to wrap her arms around the taller German battleship's neck in a tight hug.

Iowa, meanwhile, was cocking her head, studying the girl with a critical eye. "Interesting barnacle you have there, Bismarck," she said at last, barely able to stifle a laugh.

"'m NOT a barnacle!" came the muffled retort from somewhere within Bismarck's hair. This time, Iowa didn't bother hiding her laughter.

 _But I'm not so sure,_ Bismarck told herself, trying to pry the shipgirl-shaped barnacle from her bow, to no avail. The heavy cruiser wasn't budging in the least.

She grunted with the continued effort. "Eugen… let go. Please."

Eugen merely gave her a soft giggle.

To some extent, she found she couldn't blame Eugen for being very happy to see her 'big sister,' even if she knew the underlying purpose of the cruiser's visit. Really, she'd be a fool to think word of her presence here at Naval Base San Diego, and the footage of the battle, wouldn't reach as far as Germany. Anything was possible; _Musashi_ had seen the footage, and Yamato's insensitive sister was – obviously – in Japan.

"C'mon, Eugen."

Eugen, as Bismarck had anticipated, merely tightened her grip.

The elder German warship sighed. Grabbing Eugen by the waist, she rotated the cruiser onto her back, Eugen promptly poking her head through the fall of hair behind Bismarck's left shoulder.

"Okay, that's maybe a tiny bit creepy. So, Bismarck… you know her?" asked Iowa, blinking.

"Well… yes and no, you know?" the other battleship fumbled. "Umm, like that."

Unwilling to give Iowa _or_ Eugen a chance to ask what she'd honestly meant, Bismarck launched headlong into the requisite introductions. "Iowa, I'd like you to meet heavy cruiser Prinz Eugen, from Germany." She tried to peripherally catch a glimpse of her "little sister's" face, only able to see the tip of Eugen's nose and edge of her cheek; the cruiser wasn't wearing her uniform's cap, for whatever reason, but otherwise had the _exact_ appearance Bismarck had pictured right before her Awakening, uniform and all.

How had she known?

"Eugen, this is the battleship, USS Iowa, BB-61."

Iowa offered her hand. "Handshake?"

"I'm not letting go," the cruiser insisted.

"Well, I tried," Iowa said, shrugging. "Looks like we'll have to pull out the pressure-blasting equipment to scrape that barnacle off your hull."

Eugen stuck her tongue out at the American battleship.

"Let go, and we'll share the burgers I made with you."

"If my big sister cooked them, I'm sure they'll be great," breathed Eugen, as she lay her head on Bismarck's shoulder – again utterly failing, Bismarck noted to her chagrin, to budge in the slightest.

"…Yeeaah," Iowa drawled. "Hold on to that thought."

"You can have Iowa's share, Eugen."

* * *

Bismarck watched the two shipgirls standing at her kitchen counter work their way through the plates of burgers she had set before them.

Unlike Iowa's quarters, hers sported no clutter. She simply hadn't had the time nor money to furnish her room beyond her futon mattress and an embarrassingly cheap particleboard desk to support the faithful old desktop computer her parents had shipped to her.

It was _her_ computer, damnit! So what if it was mildly outdated and paled exponentially in comparison to Iowa's uber-monster gaming rig? Some of the computers in Administration were still running Windows XP!

Eugen's cheeks were beginning to bulge from the way she wolfed down her food. Was this the first chance the younger shipgirl had had to get something to eat since her departure from Germany?

"So… it's good?" she questioned Eugen.

"Yeh. 'sghd."

"Iowa?"

The battleship was eating her burgers at a more relaxed pace. "Eh… the meat's a little dry. Maybe you should've tried adding onion bits to the ground beef, or masking it with cheese, onion slices, pickles, et cetera."

Bismarck stared. "I thought you didn't like to cook."

"I don't." Iowa firmly believed she'd been military far too long, to do anything but stop by the mess hall or order takeout for her meals. Even microwaving a TV dinner was more effort than she wanted to devote. "My mom really likes to cook burgers on the grill. You hear stuff often enough, you'll remember it."

Eugen swallowed hard, immediately chugging half her bottle of soda in the hope of warding off a spate of coughing. "Big sister? Why don't you wear your uniform?"

"I… am wearing my uniform."

"I think she means the one you had when you Awakened," Iowa corrected her, with a glance in Eugen's direction. "Right?"

The heavy cruiser nodded.

"I'm curious, too. All I've ever seen you wear are U.S. Navy uniforms."

 _Oh, why did she have to bring that up?_ fretted Bismarck, the German shipgirl trying to disguise her agitation by wandering around the counter to drop her paper plate in the trashcan. Did everyone _have_ to keep obsessing over her clothes? "I enlisted with the Navy. I'm _supposed_ to wear Navy uniforms."

"Yes, but I'm willing to bet your shipgirl uniform is a lot more durable than anything you've worn when we've sortied. It _is_ part of your armor, remember." After a beat, Iowa added, "I don't think anyone's gonna care what you're wearing, so long as you follow orders and get the jobs done.

Everyone around the world knows you're a German battleship who served in World War II by now, if that's one of the reasons why you're not wearing it."

"It's not."

Bismarck abruptly found herself on the receiving end of a pair of Prinz Eugen puppy-dog eyes. "Can we see your uniform? Please?"

"Uh…" She retreated a few steps. "I don't–"

"Please?"

"Hey…"

" _Please?_ "

Her head drooped in the face of the unending assault. "Okay, okay. Just give me a moment to change."

As Bismarck proceeded to retrieve her own bundle of gray, black and red from her closet and lock herself in the bathroom, Iowa drew Eugen's empty plate to her, stacking it atop her plate.

"Did you practice doing that?"

Eugen's only response was a grin.

It was a mildly embarrassed Bismarck who emerged from the bathroom about eleven minutes later, now properly dressed in her shipgirl uniform. Iowa surveyed the ensemble, trying her level best not to let a frown show.

Had Bismarck been lying when she claimed being German had nothing to do with why she was avoiding the thing? A World War II German battleship, stationed at a base where most of the shipgirls had served in the same war on the United States' side…

"See?" She gestured to her friend's armored breastplate. "Armor. A hell of a lot more than your dress uniforms provide. You can't tell me you want to go up against the Abyssals with that much less protection."

The younger cruiser circled her 'big sister,' poking at a few sections of steel with her index finger. "I agree. I saw that video of you and Iowa. Why would you want to go to battle in clothes that stand a high chance of being shredded, and not this?"

Bismarck had no immediate answer for either of them.

All at once, the strains of a loud, bouncy J-pop song filled the air. Iowa frantically fished for her phone. "Sorry – got that from Naka. I'm using it for the shock value," she sheepishly apologized, unlocking the device with four quick taps on the number pad.

Bismarck let herself slump. "Let me guess. Abyssals." Because _of course_ the Abyssals would wait to make an appearance until after she was wearing her shipgirl uniform, and force her to sortie with no time to change.

Was there a way she could transfer her armor benefits to other clothes?

"Right. We're on our way," confirmed Iowa, ending the call. "Portland's squad has intercepted an Abyssal force," she announced. "We're to head to the docks and stand by in case they need us. Eugen, you up for fighting?"

Eugen nodded. "I'll help any way I can."

"Good." Iowa caught Bismarck firmly by the shoulders and began steering her toward the door. "Let's move."

* * *

The training 'paint' currently in use at Yokosuka Naval Base was a florescent, soupy mixture designed to be clearly visible, stick to any surface it hit, seep into every pore and crack, and be a chore to remove. A nightmare for anyone who had to devote a morning or afternoon to cleaning the results of their… training errors… from a ship.

Misa tromped onto the docks from the water, a good part of her platinum hair and upper body smothered by a thick layer of the damned paint… as if against all rational thought and common sense, she had chosen to leap headfirst into a tank of the goop.

Thank goodness the stuff was only a minor inconvenience for shipgirls with access to the repair baths.

The shipgirl bathhouse was normally empty at this time of night, though that would obviously change as soon as everyone else that had participated in this evening's training joined her. Misa chose the pool farthest from the entrance, and eased herself in… breathing a relieved sigh as she felt the bright yellow sludge start to slide off her superstructure.

Yokosuka conducted shipgirl night-battle training sessions twice or more a month… the type Sendai would no doubt love, Misa assumed, were the light cruiser not stuck in New York with her sisters.

Misa had gladly signed up; she had no experience in night battles, that she could recall, and didn't want to be caught unprepared should the sun set during a true battle.

And, surprisingly, she'd performed better than expected, for her first attempt! She and her destroyer screen – Ushio, Ayanami and Shikinami – had come close to achieving their objective before being detected… after which they had ultimately been swarmed and overwhelmed by every member of the opposing team still active.

 _Yeah, I got the point, but did they have to be THAT aggressive?_ She frowned. Being the only battleship on the field meant she had been the target of choice. Maybe next time, she'd talk Musashi into participating. Or Musashi _and_ Yamato-oneesama, if their sister's upgrade was completed by then…

The first indication Misa had that she'd fallen asleep was her faeries prodding her awake. "Desu!"

"Oh… all done?" she bleared. "Okay."

Misa dragged herself out of the pool, careful to avoid waking any of the other shipgirls who were sleeping in the baths, and grabbed a large towel from the nearest rack to dry off.

Ah, there. The _Ayanami_ sisters were asleep in the pool near the entrance. She couldn't resist a smile as she passed, her gaze sweeping over each of the trio in turn.

Too bad they'd probably never want to be assigned to work with her, ever again. The three destroyers had taken the brunt of the paint assault.

They had also unloaded the rest of their training ammo upon their attackers in spite after the fact, and tried to talk Misa into doing the same.

The smile faded. Her? She had lost her nerve.

Oh, she was able to justify it several different ways. It was against the rules. A waste of good training ammunition. They were all within very close range, and her cannonfire _hurt_ at that distance.

 _Musashi_ would have done it. With utter, shameless glee. Why not her?

Misa hastened her pace, all but darting out the bathhouse's doorway. She stopped once outside, staring up into the clouded night sky.

 _Damn,_ she thought. _I need a drink._

A taste for beer and hard liquor, one of the few traits she _had_ inherited from her former self. Musashi's brash fearlessness? Willingness to cut loose? Not so much.

There were occasions when she wondered whether or not she should have been Yamato's reincarnate, instead. She certainly seemed to have more in common with Yamato-oneesama than Musashi…

A beer. Right. She had five six-packs left in her refrigerator.

* * *

The twenty-four minute walk from the docks to her quarters only served to make Misa want her beer more with every passing moment… until she was safely home, and practically lunged directly from her genkan to her refrigerator.

Grabbing a can, she popped the top and took a sip. "Better."

Without warning, loud music filtered through the wall that separated her room from her elder sister's.

"Damn it, Musashi," she grumbled.

Yamato was in dry-dock, undergoing some sort of upgrade – which had led to Musashi complaining about their sister receiving preferential treatment again, until the Admiral and Nagato explained _why_ Yamato had accepted the procedure.

Just like oneesama, to place concern for them before her.

Yamato's quarters were supposed to remain empty, while she was away… except Musashi had proven utterly unable to resist using the computer.

She was surprised the Admiral didn't already have someone monitoring the computer's IP for activity, especially after Musashi's recent email run.

Can in hand, she opened the door adjoining the two rooms. Sure enough, Musashi was kneeling before their sister's computer desk… watching YouTube videos, if the elevator music and nervous commentary blaring through the small powered speakers was any indication.

"You do know that if you break that computer or get it infected with something, oneesama and Naka will… uh… okay, I don't know what they'll do, but I'm sure it'll be severe."

"Why does everyone think I'm gonna break this computer?" demanded Musashi.

Misa knew better than to answer that question. She joined Musashi at the computer, catching sight of a small tabby kitten in the video window – until Musashi shut off the monitor. "You're watching cat videos? Really?"

"No! I'm… I'm trying to do some research."

"Uh-huh," she said, knowingly. "Hey, did the 'shipcat' people ever decide what cat to use for you?"

'Shipcats' were a new fad on YouTube – users would try to guess what cat best matched a particular shipgirl, then superimpose some form of rigging around that cat, real or imaginary.

"No, and I've been thinking of doing it for them."

"Do tell."

One look at the smug grin her reincarnate wore told Musashi she'd just walked into a painfully obvious trap. Damn. "Alright, _fine_." She jabbed at the monitor's power button to turn it back on. "I, Musashi, _am_ doing research. I've been watching dog and cat and fish and… whatever, videos, because I'm thinking about getting a pet."

Misa blinked. "A pet?"

"Yeah. I'm… curious, you know? And there's no rule saying we can't have pets."

"I don't know – I think they'd freak out if you started keeping a python in your room. You _are_ aware pets're a big responsibility?" Misa finished her can in one long swig.

"Heh. A python…"

"Don't you dare, Musashi."

* * *

 _The_ Yamato _: From World War II Battleship to Shipgirl_

"Well." Cheryl stared at the words she had written, purple ballpoint ink against a college-ruled notebook paper background. "Now that I have the title, the rest of the essay'll just flow, right?" she muttered.

Her pen, lying atop the notebook, did not agree.

"C'mon, essay. Flow."

She brought her head down upon the notebook in defeat, causing a few of her printed-out and photocopied pages from articles about the _Yamato_ to scatter, fluttering to the carpet below.

The essay was an assignment from her demented World History teacher, Mr. Sullivan. _Choose any one specific shipgirl from those active in the world today. I want you to do your best to document her past as a warship, without regurgitating encyclopedia or Wikipedia articles verbatim, and what she has accomplished as a shipgirl._

Haruka probably would've loved the assignment.

She again wondered what her best friend was doing. The evening after she and Haruka had a short debate over shipgirl Yamato's appearance, Haruka ended up having to take a last-minute, emergency flight to Japan to help care for her grandmother. So last minute, that Haruka had only been able to pack a few spare clothes, purse and passport, according to her mother. She'd also forgotten her cellphone in the rush, too.

Unless Haruka could get access to a computer _and_ remember her friend's email address, Cheryl didn't hold much hope for being able to speak to her anytime soon.

She'd been right, however. Yamato had been summoned not too long after Haruka's return to Japan, wearing a… _unique_ uniform, and not dressed like a geisha in the least. Could the shipgirl even draw _that_ much hair back into a proper hair-bun?

What did Haruka think, with her predictions coming true?

As a respectful nod to her friend, Cheryl had chosen Yamato as the subject of her essay. She already had a half-dozen copied articles about the _Yamato_ ready for use, access to who knew what else through the Internet… and, if necessary, Haruka's father had to have some interesting information about the _Yamato_ , maybe even the shipgirl, as well.

 _Might as well check YouTube, see if there's anything I'd want to use,_ she decided. _Or_ _ **can**_ _use._ Did her teacher allow YouTube videos as a reference?

In no time, she had a page of YouTube search results loaded in her computer's browser, and clicked on the link to a video titled, "Yamato's First Press Conference (subtitled)."

" _Esteemed members of the press and military,_ " the man standing behind the podium began, Yamato standing to his immediate right, " _People of Japan, may I respectfully introduce the battleship, Yamato._ "

Applause, and more than a few whistles and cat-calls. The man allowed Yamato to step behind the podium. " _Good afternoon. I am Yamato, and it is my pleasure and privilege to be here, today._ "

" _How can we be sure you're the real Yamato?_ " someone called from close to the front of the crowd.

Yamato glanced in the man's direction, as though asking permission for what she was about to do, and received a nod in response. Walking several feet to the right of the podium, she turned to face the audience, and summoned her rigging.

The immense rigging and firepower of the battleship _Yamato_.

More applause. Yamato dismissed her rigging, returning to the podium.

The conference launched into a Q&A session, Yamato attempting to answer the questions of the horde of journalists slowly advancing toward her.

Cheryl bookmarked the video, and turned her attention away from the screen to write a note to herself. _Can use YT videos? Yamato's first press conference?_

" _The Abyssals are a clear threat to the world at large. We shall no longer allow them to continue with their plans, whatever those plans may be._ "

 _Huh, that almost sounds like…_

Cheryl's eyes went wide, more than she'd thought possible. She returned her gaze to Yamato.

" _I, Yamato, vow to do whatever I can – whatever I must – to combat the Abyssal threat._ "

The battleship shipgirl was _speaking with Haruka's voice!_ Naturally, and not as a voice-over, that Cheryl could tell.

But… _why_?

* * *

Author's notes:

Did anyone ever agree upon the chatter for the German faeries?

The main reason this chapter ended up being delayed was because I wasn't happy with the 'dialogue' for Bismarck's faerie, and kept trying to decide on a better word, for the purpose. I'm still not happy with it, but I had to get around to writing the _rest_ of the chapter, sometime…

The German "ey" is roughly like the British "oi," except some consider it more rude. It doesn't really work as well in repetition, however, in my opinion, and in a scene where Iowa's faeries are _already_ using "hey" left and right…

Special thanks: Pyeknu, Kevin Hammel, Crescent Pulsar, J. St. C. Patrick


	12. Friends, Family, and a Submarine or Two

She didn't know what impulse had led her to drive to Haruka's house the following day after school, wait at the gate for Mrs. Kinoshita to buzz her through, and stand on the front porch mere moments from confronting Haruka's parents about what she believed she knew.

Ideally, she should have waited, spent a day or three researching the shipgirls and Awakened. Shipgirls were beings of magic, spirits of old warships and their actual massive, multi-ton metal selves somehow merged in the form of Human girls. Was it so hard to imagine that Yamato might simply have a voice sounding eerily close to Haruka's?

Why was she so ready to believe that Haruka's parents had lied? That Haruka was now a shipgirl representing one of the largest warships in history, holding press conferences and risking her newly-magical life in fighting against twisted monsters out to destroy everything?

If only it didn't make absolutely, horrifically perfect _sense_ to her.

Haruka's evident obsession with shipgirls, especially Yamato? That day, with the magazine… Haruka had been so _sure_ Yamato wouldn't be summoned while dressed anything like a geisha. Had that been Yamato speaking?

Had Haruka known she was going to… wake up? in the near future?

Minami Kinoshita, Haruka's mother, opened the door.

The elder woman had been at least half a foot shorter than her or Haruka, and Cheryl caught herself idly wondering how much taller Haruka was than her mother now, as Yamato. The battleship shipgirl looked like a giant, looming awkwardly behind podiums meant for people of average height at her press conferences.

She forced the thought from her mind.

"You say… you want to talk to us?" Mrs. Kinoshita was saying. Without a true need to learn or speak English, or constant exposure, her command of the English language remained rudimentary and thickly-accented.

"Yes. May I come in?"

"Okay."

Barely able to contain her eagerness to confront Haruka's parents and finally learn whether or not her best friend really _was_ a battleship, Cheryl waited a single step past the older woman into the foyer before pivoting on her heels.

"I know the truth about Haruka," she blurted, while Minami shut the door behind them.

Minami didn't turn around. "…Truth?"

"… _Yamato_."

The woman's hand flicked to the deadbolt, locking it, and in the next instant Cheryl found herself being ushered to the office.

Haruka's father, she'd decided some years ago, spent ninety-eight percent of each week sitting behind his desk.

He was there, naturally, attacking a stack of paperwork whose height alone caused her to wince in sympathy. Minami rushed to his side, urgently and quietly mentioning something to him in Japanese; Cheryl could swear she heard Haruka's name. Was Haruka's mother telling him she'd figured out what had truly happened to their daughter?

"So," he said, finally, setting the papers aside and fixing her with an even stare. "You said you 'know the truth' about Haruka?"

She hesitated. "I've been doing research on Yamato for an essay. I've noticed that in all the footage showing her – the press conferences, every time she appears on-camera – Yamato's speaking using Haruka's voice. Yamato is Haruka, isn't she."

Takashi Kinoshita didn't react for an uncomfortably long moment. "A shipgirl and her reincarnate share the exact same voice. Did you think that maybe, while Yamato has been summoned, Haruka is her un-Awakened reincarnate, safe at home, watching her grandmother?"

 _Is he_ _ **really**_ _gonna try playing the 'lesser evil' game!?_ "Then, in that case," she snapped, "Haruka would Awaken soon, if she hasn't already, and _still_ end up being involved and in danger. Having the summoned version of a shipgirl present accelerates the Awakening process greatly, more so depending on how close they physically are to each other."

Cheryl gave the man her own stare. "Give me credit for doing _some_ research on shipgirl reincarnates."

Silence.

"Mr. Kinoshita, please," she persisted. "Haruka is my friend. I want to know the truth. I won't tell anyone else. Honest."

Takashi exhaled, allowing the tension to leave his body. "I believe you."

 _You do?_ she thought, but decided not to say.

"If I tell you what you want to know, do I have your word you will not mention any of it to anyone else?"

 _Didn't I just say I wouldn't?_ "Yes. I promise I won't."

She listened with obvious interest as he proceeded to tell her the entire story, what had actually happened after she and Haruka left the store, the latter holding a new magazine to add to her shipgirl collection.

How Haruka had Awakened as Yamato that evening, her parents discovering the unconscious battleship, cannons and all, in a shallow crater holding the wreckage of her bed.

How, once they'd realized who Haruka _was_ , Takashi had – reluctantly, he claimed – promptly passed along the word to his superiors that Yamato's reincarnate had been found. That spun into a plot, from a group of people Takashi barely knew, to have Haruka pretend to be the summoned version of shipgirl Yamato.

Oh, it bothered her, certainly. But Haruka's ability to lead anything resembling a normal life after becoming a battleship shipgirl would be _extremely_ questionable, anywhere short of a naval base.

Haruka had jumped at the opportunity. She was proud of being the _Yamato_ , one of the most powerful battleships in history. She _liked_ having the chance to participate in the fight against the Abyssals. When Yamato declared she was committed to stopping the Abyssal threat, Haruka meant it.

Was this the Haruka she had known?

But even Cheryl could see the incredible morale boost Yamato's presence was giving the people of Japan and to varying degrees, others throughout the world. Haruka was proving to be a surprisingly capable battleship.

"The worst part?" Takashi, she saw, suddenly looked more haggard than she'd expected. "We haven't been able to contact her since she left." All this time, having to depend mostly upon what footage of Yamato Japan released, be it press conferences or worse – battle footage – in the hope of determining whether or not their little girl was alive and well. "I'm told nobody's been able to set up any secure ways of communicating with her. Even if she had a computer or cellphone, her traffic can be monitored, and her emails can be read."

"She can't even hand a letter off to anyone?"

Takashi shook his head. "I don't know. I'm beginning to think I should come up with my own way of getting in touch with her."

Uh-oh. "Isn't that dangerous? If the guys who set all this up can't get her a way to communicate with you, doesn't that imply she's in a position where her cover can be easily blown?"

He snorted. "I know the type of people we're dealing with, if not them directly. They're rarely all that inventive." Noting the dubious expression his guest was forming, Takashi added, "I will run any idea I have past them. It's simply that I do not trust them to develop a good plan on their own."

Good. Haruka's predicament was already crazy enough without her parents rushing to try their own schemes to get in touch with their daughter-turned-battleship.

Cheryl caught herself wondering – if the truth about Haruka were discovered, what would happen to her? Could they execute a shipgirl?

Okay, maybe the situation wasn't _that_ dire, and she was letting her imagination run wild. It was a dizzying plot to have to keep to herself… and damn it, she still had to spin an essay about her best friend. The idea of throwing all her research out and restarting with a different shipgirl felt disrespectful to Haruka, all her friend's sacrifices and accomplishments.

Crap. What was she going to do?

* * *

"Yeah, she's done," Akashi indicated, the repair ship subconsciously sweeping her sakura-blossom dark pink hair back as she led the Admiral and Nagato into her workshop. "Just gotta bring her back around."

The first sight that greeted them, drew their attention, was Yamato, lying prone on an uncomfortable-looking metal slab of a table. Nagato winced, recalling her own experiences in dry-dock. She forced herself to concentrate on the changes to her fellow battleship, instead.

True to her word, Akashi had improved Yamato's armor slightly, attempting to address some of the issues that had contributed to Yamato's sinking during Operation Ten-Go.

Two 15.5cm turrets had been removed to make room for a number of smaller 12.7cm anti-aircraft turrets – and yet, those were but a few of Yamato's new cannons…

 _Her profile… It's so close to the way it was, back then…_ A memory rose… early January, 1945. She, Yamato and Haruna had been transferred to what would be a short-lived reactivation of the First Battleship Division. The night before Yamato departed for the Inland Sea, Nagato had had a chance to see the younger battleship's profile silhouetted in the moonlight.

Akashi's notes indicated that the upgrade brought Yamato in line with her ship-self's configuration around that same period of time… and Nagato's own memories seemed to bear that out.

Memories… With a start, Nagato realized where her thoughts were heading, and collected herself. Now was not the time to let the past overtake her.

"Akashi?" the Admiral's voice interrupted her musing. "This stocking… did you do this?"

A mild surge of irritation rose in Nagato, and briefly, she wondered why their Admiral was choosing to focus upon superficial details such as Yamato's clothes or her appearance as a girl – when she recalled any alterations to either were presently the _only_ changes the man would be able to see, unless Yamato summoned her rigging.

"No, that changed on its own. It's one of her flags."

Nagato followed the Admiral's gaze to the longer of Yamato's stockings, where a familiar set of kanji had been painted in a line sloping down the length of the garment. Her eyes widened. "The _Hirihoukenten_ ," she breathed, stepping closer in order to trace the kanji with a finger. A proverb, adopted as a slogan by the Imperial Japanese Navy.

 _Right triumphs over Wrong._

 _Law triumphs over Right._

 _Power triumphs over Law._

 _The Heavens triumph over Power._

 _No man can oppose the Divine._

"Yes, she's flying that flag, now."

"Nagato?" inquired Goto.

"I have read the historical accounts of Operation Ten-Go," she stated, turning to face him. "Yamato flew that flag during the final phase of her voyage to Okinawa." A destination Yamato would never reach…

"And now she's flying it again."

"Yes."

Neither of them were willing to chance voicing their hope that the flag _wasn't_ a sign history was repeating itself – that Yamato was nowhere near embarking upon her final voyage. As long as they didn't acknowledge the fear _or_ hope, it remained little more than superstitious foolishness… right?

 _Right?_

Purposely ignoring the unease and note of worry beginning to pool deep within him, Goto shifted his attention to the repair ship standing at the foot of the 'bed.' "Bring her around, Akashi." In a sense, if they _didn't_ resuscitate Haruka, the shipgirl remained 'safe.' She couldn't head out into battle to risk her life fighting the Abyssals – bad enough he had to order young women and girls to do just that, no matter if those girls were the spirits of warships past and therefore the most ideal soldiers, as shipgirls, to combat the monsters.

Haruka was only military now, due to her previous self being the most revered battleship in Japanese history. She should be attending high school in the United States, her worst problem worrying if her grades were good enough for her to graduate and get her into college, not the optimal use of her ammunition!

But all of that had been thrown out upon her Awakening. She was Yamato, now, and would not accept remaining safe and sheltered when she was perfectly capable of contributing to her country's efforts to fight the Abyssals.

Worse, knowing Haruka's secret meant he was doubly responsible for her. And what did he do, as her commanding officer? Send her out into dangerous battles, and help her become a better battleship.

He hoped her parents would forgive him, someday.

* * *

"Yamato?"

…wha…?

Bright pink.

Wait… what? Pink?

Cold. Hard. Uncomfortable.

I shift, but that only makes the discomfort worse, so…

My eyes began to adjust. I groaned, trying to push myself up and away from the uncomfortable cold hard metal… table? Yeah. Table. Someone helped me sit up.

"How do you feel, Yamato?" asked Akashi.

I stared at her, letting my eyes continue to focus while I swung my legs to the side of the table, and hopped off. If I'm too weak to stand, I'll just crash to the floor. I do NOT want to spend any more time on that table!

Fortunately, I didn't collapse.

Right, I've been… upgraded. I quickly took stock of the changes, casting my senses throughout my entire body and ship-self. "Different," I answered the question, honestly.

Akashi snorted. "Very funny," she drawled. "Okay, then. I want you to summon your rigging, so the Admiral can actually see what's different, where all the money went."

Oh, that I can do. Besides, the further I get from the table, the better. The thing didn't feel any more comfortable than when I'd laid down upon it. Wasn't I supposed to get used to it?

A few minutes later, I was nervously standing across the room from the frozen slab of metal, doing my best to remain still while the Admiral and Nagato circled me and my rigging. Even without directly focusing on the additions and changes, I can definitely _feel_ them – the added and replaced turrets, and armor. And to think, when I Awakened, I'd assumed I couldn't possibly have or control more guns…

"Yamato? You can dismiss your rigging. Everything appears to be in order." Naturally, I have to field-test all of it before I can be sure it's dependable.

"Are you ready to come back to the office, Yamato?" Nagato put the question to me, as the last traces of my rigging faded.

"Uh-uh." Akashi shook her head. "I'm giving her at least a day off. She needs to take it easy, get used to the new configuration first. Repair ship's orders."

Nagato raised an eyebrow. "She'll just be sitting down most of the day at the office."

"I wasn't summoned yesterday, Nagato. I know how crazy it can get over there."

The Admiral intervened. "I'll take her to her quarters. Unless you believe something may happen along the way?"

"In this place? It's practically guaranteed."

"I will be fine," I assured her. "I'm sure nothing major will happen."

All three of them stared at me momentarily, as though they couldn't believe what I was saying.

"I suppose I had better head for the office," Nagato sighed, meeting the Admiral's gaze with her own even stare. "Those piles of _mildly_ backdated paperwork won't complete themselves, Admiral."

"Piles of paperwork?" I echoed, in a mock-scolding tone. "Admiral? Have you been letting the work pile up in my absence?"

"Don't _you_ start. Mutsu teasing me is bad enough as it is."

Hey, when Mutsu isn't around, someone has to do it. Come to think of it… why isn't she here?

"The Admiral's sister has decided to let his niece visit the base–"

"Hikaru-chan?" I interrupted.

"Yes," answered Nagato. "At this time, Mutsu should be showing her around."

I turned to find the Admiral appraising me. "Oh, that's right. You haven't had a chance to meet Hikaru, yet. I'm sure she'll like you, Yamato."

"And after you take Yamato to meet your niece, you're heading straight to the office to tackle that paperwork, correct?" Nagato's voice _almost_ sounded wry, though you'd never guess it from her perfectly-schooled expression.

"I, Yamato, will make sure he does," I told her.

* * *

"Haruka, what was that about?" the Admiral asked me once we were well away from Akashi's workshop… and presumably, anyone else's hearing range.

I came to a stop. "What, the paperwork? You know what happened the last time we let you put it off."

"You three are never going to let me live that down, are you?" He hung his head ever so slightly. "But, no. I'm talking about after you woke up. You were speaking more casually than usual."

"I was?" Concerned, I mentally replayed what I'd said while in the workshop, and… oh. It isn't that big a change from my past behavior as Yamato, is it? "Um… actually…," I said, fighting a blush. "For a while now, I've been sort of… channeling my former self, I guess you can say, instead of consciously maintaining the act. It's easier to act natural if I'm not spending time picking my words before I say them."

What I thought might be shock flashed across his face, and vanished just as quickly. "So… I can reasonably assume that by April of 1945, you were 'speaking' a little more casually than formal, as a ship-spirit?"

"Yes." The Admiral was trying to avoid mentioning Operation Ten-Go, I knew, aware that talking or even thinking about it was uncomfortable for me. But, as I'd been sunk shortly after the beginning of the month, that particular _April_ was another topic I wanted to avoid.

As if he'd sensed my distress, the Admiral didn't continue that line of thought, directing me to pull out my phone. "Sir?"

"Call Mutsu, and ask her where she and Hikaru are. I'm sure she'll be glad to hear you're up and about."

I keyed in the code to speed-dial Mutsu, and switched the call to speakerphone.

She answered one-and-a-half rings later. " _This is Mutsu. Yamato, you're out of dry-dock?_ "

"Yes," I replied, repressing a shudder. I'd better not have to repeat _that_ , anytime soon.

" _I'm afraid I don't have time to talk,_ " she hastened to add. " _Iku has nearly all of our cruisers up in arms again._ "

"Again!?" I groaned in dismay. Beside me, the Admiral's shoulders slumped. The cruisers were among Iku's favorite targets, for some reason.

You'd think Iku would have the sense to leave them alone, particularly if Mogami's still angry. Unless… wait, that can't be it, can it? "Make sure everyone is aware not to go after Lieutenant Matsubara."

Mutsu's voice was pensive. " _Oh, dear. You suspect Iku's setting her up?_ "

"It's a possibility. We may need to place both of them in protective custody until we know exactly what happened." And Iku's intent, I didn't say. The Lieutenant wouldn't like that, but I'm sure she'd like having most of our entire complement of cruisers out to get her even less.

"Mutsu, what about Hikaru-chan?" the Admiral raised his voice. "Is she still with you?"

" _Oh, Admiral. No. I didn't believe she should be exposed to Iku or whatever Iku was up to, and with little time… well, I left her with Tenryuu and DesDiv Six._ "

The Admiral exhaled. "Thank you for that," he acknowledged, though he was likely mentally running through a list of 'better' candidates to babysit his niece. "Where were they when you left them?"

" _They were helping the kitchen staff at the mess hall. But that was a good thirty to forty minutes ago._ "

"Okay. We'll let you get back to dealing with Iku. Yamato and I will locate my niece. I'll alert Nagato, in case you need backup."

* * *

The main difficulty in contacting Tenryuu, is that while she _does_ have a cellphone, she rarely bothers to bring it with her – or if she does have it, she 'forgets' to turn it on. Or switch it out of silent mode. She essentially forces us to track her by her ship's tracker and ID, and contact her by radio, both normally last resorts. Now that we're shipgirls, many surprisingly preferred using cellphones to the older radio transmissions, as they were a bit more 'private.'

It's been suggested that we give DesDiv Six phones to get around Tenryuu's 'stubbornness,' but they're not always with her.

We were about to enter the mess hall when the Admiral stopped me. "I just realized that technically, you haven't had anything to eat for over a week. Are you sure you'll be okay with going in there while we're still looking for Hikaru?"

"Akashi made sure I was completely refueled and resupplied. I should be fine for now." Nobody wanted to risk me collapsing again, after all.

Once inside, I cast a quick glance about the hall to see who was present. The _Shiratsuyu_ sisters. Amagi, vainly attempting to ignore the commotion from the _Shiratsuyu_ tables and maintain her serenity.

Hyuuga and Ise, actually succeeding.

And by herself at a table next to the exit on the opposite wall, a clearly-bored Shimakaze, building random structures with her food. Quickly.

"I'll see what the kitchen staff can tell me. You stay here, in case they pass through."

So, stand around for a while watching other shipgirls eat? Sure, why not.

By the time the Admiral returned, about five minutes later, the _Akizuki_ sisters had claimed a table for themselves and their meager meals, and I'd resorted to idly guessing what the heck Shimakaze was building before she dismantled it and began anew.

"Well, they were here until Tatsuta showed up and dragged her sister away, kicking and screaming," he informed me. "After that, as far as everyone here is concerned, DesDiv Six disappeared."

The Admiral's worry was surely mounting; I didn't consider myself all that great at talking someone down, but I had to do something to keep him calm. "Should we try their quarters?" I suggested. "I doubt Akatsuki and her sisters would take Hikaru on a tour, without Tenryuu present."

"Mmm," he murmured in agreement. And if they're not there… _then_ , I'll try radioing them, or asking Nagato to track them.

* * *

"Hello?" I called, pressing the button for the door chime outside the quarters that the four members and sisters of DesDiv Six shared. "Is anyone here?"

Thunder – or rather, the distinct sound of three destroyers' heavy footsteps as they ran toward the door – rumbled, the storm ending abruptly as Akatsuki threw the door open. "Yamato-sempai? You're–"

The nervous and slightly guilty looks Akatsuki and Ikazuchi wore set me on alert. Even Hibiki, who tried to appear stoic most of the time, was a bit anxious.

I knelt to place myself at their eye level. "What happened?" I asked in all seriousness, mindful of the Admiral standing behind me. "Where is Hikaru-chan?"

Ikazuchi winced. "Uh… We didn't do it!" she exclaimed.

"Ikazuchi!"

"You didn't do _what_?" The Admiral's voice and gaze were quickly developing an edge.

I knew I had to take control of the situation. "Admiral," I stated, calmly and evenly, hoping he would understand. He was an uncle, worried about his niece's safety on a naval base where a considerable fleet of shipgirls was stationed. More so when one realized that _anything_ could theoretically happen when shipgirls were involved.

But the sisters were already panicking, and no doubt imagining the worst possible outcomes. "Everyone, please calm down," I soothed, turning my attention back to the trio. Where _is_ Inazuma? "Now. Start from the beginning."

"Uh… the beginning?"

"Say, around the time Mutsu left Hikaru with you," suggested the Admiral.

Ikazuchi considered that for a moment. "We were all havin' fun. Hikaru-chan, too. Then one of the ladies said Hikaru looked… like she belonged with us. Tenryuu even said she'd make Hikaru-chan an honorary member of DesDiv Six."

"And that's when her sister came and dragged her away." Akatsuki made a slight face. "She was cursing a whole lot."

I consciously did not turn to see what the Admiral's reaction to that statement was. I'm sure he's making a mental note to chew Tenryuu out later, for swearing in his niece's presence.

"Then, you brought Hikaru-chan here?" They could have dropped Hikaru off somewhere, yes. However, that took time, and they'd probably have to go out of their way to find someone responsible enough to take Hikaru, or to get to the Admiral's office or home.

A nod. "Everyone was still havin' fun, and as far as Hikaru knew, she didn't have to be anywhere, so…"

"She was playing with Inazuma a lot!" Akatsuki again picked up the story. "But then… uh… she screamed, and started glowing all gold an' floating–"

 _Oh, no._

It occurred to me that I didn't know how aware the Admiral was of the Awakening process, as he curtly stepped around me. "Where is Hikaru-chan?" he repeated the question.

"Here she is," Inazuma's voice announced, drawing our attention to the bathroom – where the destroyer was leading _her exact twin_ through the door.

"H-Hikaru!?"

"Uncle…" the girl in question whimpered, catching sight of him. Tears welled in her eyes. "I'm scared, na-nanodesu."

She ran, wrapping her arms tightly around the Admiral and hiding her face against his leg. "Hikaru… chan," he managed to wheeze, teeth gritted, "could you… loosen… your grip… a little? You're… stronger than… you were."

"S-sorry." Hikaru apologized, her gaze traveling to the floor as she released him.

Sighing, he knelt to place himself face-to-face with her, as I had with DesDiv Six. "It's okay. You've done nothing wrong. None of you have done anything wrong. It's just… you're a shipgirl, now, so you need to be aware of your strength."

I pursed my lips. It was difficult to tell how hard this was hitting the Admiral; I'd never seen him truly upset, and the pleasant tone he's forcing to his voice only masked everything more.

He drew Hikaru's attention to me. "Hikaru, this is Yamato."

"Oh, yeah," she said, eyes brightening. "You were on TV."

I gave her a soft laugh. "Yes, I suppose I was."

"Would you mind if I have Yamato carry you? We'll go to the office, and try to figure out what we're going to do, okay?"

The newly-Awakened destroyer appeared to think about it. "…Okay."

"Princess carry?" I offered.

She nodded, though timidly. "Uh-huh."

So, gingerly, I scooped her into my arms, and in one swift motion lifted her away from the ground. Once she was satisfied my hold was secure, Hikaru relaxed. "Comfortable?"

"I… think so."

The Admiral pulled himself to his feet. "You two go on ahead. I just want to ask Hikaru's… new sisters a few questions."

"You're not gonna punish them, are you? You said nobody did anything wrong!"

"I meant what I said. Nobody is being punished." He hesitated, hints of a pleading look present in his eyes. "Yamato, if you please…?"

Ah. My order to leave, obviously. Inclining my head, I turned and left the room, carefully shutting the door behind me.

Hikaru remained quiet as I walked, giving other thoughts a chance to run through my mind.

I had to say something… but what was I going to tell her? Everything will be all right? Awakening was a considerably _big_ upheaval, and not everyone wanted to suddenly become a shipgirl.

Darn it, Akashi was right. Weird things happening here are practically guaranteed.

* * *

Author's notes:

I _had_ considered naming this chapter, "A Shipgirl Wakes at Yokosuka," but figured many might assume from the start that it referred mainly to an Awakening, giving one of the events of the chapter away.

L: Thanks! Although, I'm afraid I can't say anything about the possibility of shipping at this time. :D

Special thanks: J. St. C. Patrick


	13. Home is Wherever My Sisters Are Berthed

"I understand. Yes, I will let him know. Thank you."

"So, what did she say?" the Admiral asked, anxiously leaning forward in the seat across from my desk, as I set the phone's handset back on its cradle.

Nagato stood silently in the doorway, watching impassively; I let my gaze wander to her and back. "She still refuses to speak to you," I replied.

He closed his eyes and sighed. "I figured as much. Do either of you know… the last time she stopped speaking to me, it lasted seven years?"

"Seven years?" Nagato's voice softened.

"Let's just say we… had an argument about…" The Admiral hesitated, possibly wondering if he should be revealing personal information to his shipgirl staff. "…About fulfilling our father's final wishes. Things got out of hand, we both ended up behaving quite childishly, and… well. It wasn't until Hikaru-chan was born, that we finally reconciled.

And now, as far as she's concerned, we've just turned her little girl into a destroyer. I'm fairly sure she'll never speak to me again."

That sounded a bit too pessimistic for my liking. "Pardon me for saying so, sir, but I, Yamato, find that hard to believe." Even if I hadn't just been on the phone with the Admiral's sister, I'd doubt she would hold _that_ extensive a grudge.

"Yes," agreed Nagato. "Surely, that won't be the case."

The Admiral, however, was hardly convinced. "Thanks, but I know my sister. Ultimately, I am responsible for anything that happens on this base, so I am _technically_ fully accountable for Hikaru-chan's Awakening. And Amami's well aware of that."

"She isn't blaming you," I informed him. "She would rather not speak to you, for the time being, but she isn't holding you personally accountable for what happened."

He blinked. "Did she say that…?"

"Yes."

"What else did she say?"

I drew a breath before continuing. "She wants to keep Hikaru-chan at home from now on, and never let her go out, although she knows that is 'an irrational, knee-jerk reaction,' as she stated."

"Can she do that?"

"I don't know." A frown surfaced on the Admiral's lips. "I doubt she's prepared to care for a newly-Awakened destroyer, either. Yamato, I want you to prepare a list of the things she needs to be aware of. She'll probably accept it as long as I'm not the one sending it to her."

"Right away, sir. Oh… she has also agreed to allow Inazuma to visit, but no one else. Completely supervised – she wants to make sure Inazuma won't try convincing Hikaru-chan to enlist."

The Admiral shook his head. "It bothers me that Amami thinks I would be so eager to have my niece, who isn't even a teenager yet, enlist. Shipgirl or not."

"Give her some time," advised Nagato. "Hikaru only became an Awakened shipgirl _yesterday_. I'm sure that after Mrs. Yamazaki has had a chance to calm down and consider everything, she will ease up on the restrictions and paranoia."

At that, the Admiral opened his mouth for a moment as if intending to argue the point, then tiredly closed it.

One of these days, I'm going to figure out how Nagato wins arguments, that way.

"– _Hey, Yamato?_ "

I started, sitting bolt upright in my chair.

"Yamato, what is it? Is something wrong?"

" _I know you can hear me, Yamato._ "

"No, sir – merely a sister who doesn't believe in maintaining radio silence while I am at the office," I grumbled, raising two fingers to my ear.

" _Musashi, are you still on the computer?_ "

" _I, Musashi… no._ "

I was far from convinced, of course. She's never left my computer… or turned the volume down. Heck, because I'm too nice a shipgirl, last night, I ended up grabbing my futon and spending the night in _her_ room. " _If I contact Misa, will she tell me the same thing?_ "

A pause. " _…Okay,_ _ **fine**_ _. But that's not why I'm calling! Have you–_ "

The Admiral rested the palm of a hand on my shoulder, distracting me from my sister's impatience. "Sir?"

"Tell her that the latest reports from Naval Base San Diego say that Shinano is doing well, and the work on her is expected to be completed by the end of the week," he said. Then, in a matter-of-fact tone of voice, he added, "Musashi insisted on dropping by the office every day you were in dry-dock to pester us for status updates. I had to put my foot down."

If the Admiral noticed my attempts to fight a blush while I relayed the message, he didn't say anything. " _Was it_ _ **really**_ _necessary to rush? I had planned to ask him later._ "

" _Yes! And besides, the Admiral never says_ _'_ _no_ _'_ _to you, so–_ "

" _He did when we tried convincing him to let us go to San Diego,_ " I reminded her.

The connection suddenly ended, fading to static.

Inwardly, I fumed, letting my hand slowly fall. The Admiral never says "no" to me? Where did she get _that_ idea?

"Is that what she wanted to know?"

"I think so." I'm sure she'd only drag herself away from the computer to get something to eat, at this point…

* * *

Prinz Eugen couldn't sleep.

She'd gone through the motions, certainly. Change from her uniform into the adorable – but generic, sadly – battleship-print pajamas she'd bought at Kiel. Turn the lights off, slide into her U.S. Navy-issue sleeping bag… and lay her head upon the pillow 'borrowed' from her big sister.

Here she was, once again berthed at an American port… but under better circumstances. As a VIP shipgirl guest, the base's administration had offered her the empty room to the right of her big sister's quarters.

Though, big sister Bismarck did snore, loud enough to be heard through the metal and concrete-reinforced walls.

Bismarck deserved the rest. Strange hang-ups with her shipgirl uniform aside, Bismarck fought the Abyssals with everything she had, alongside Iowa, whenever they sortied. Oh, they may gripe, but they gave the Abyssals _many_ good reasons to fear battleships.

Now, that was the big sister Bismarck she'd known.

Eugen stared at her ceiling through the darkness. The minute she nodded off, she knew, was when the demons would _conveniently_ choose to make an appearance, and the base promptly mobilized squads to intercept them.

The Abyssals were deliberately baiting them, 'randomly' popping up once a day or more in different locations just within the base's sensory range. But… why? Were they hoping to exhaust both the base's defenders and resources, in anticipation of an offensive? An assault on the base? It wasn't as though the base were isolated; the 'idiot Abyssals,' as she'd once heard her big sister refer to them, had to know the Americans weren't going to let them overtake their forces or base _that_ easily. Especially with a large shipgirl fleet that included two battleships… and soon, an armored carrier.

As far as she was aware, reinforcements would be quick to arrive, if Naval Base San Diego needed them.

No, the idiot Abyssals had a different plan in mind. Something that was bound to translate into more nights picking out the details of her ceiling in the dark.

Her smartphone's screen lit up, the chiming tone indicating she had new mail.

 _Why have you not sent me any mail?_

Eugen grimaced. In all the excitement of being able to finally be with her big sister, and dispatching Abyssal forces, she'd completely forgotten to tend to some of the more mundane tasks on her to-do list, such as buying souvenirs or answering email.

Well, she hadn't _actually_ planned on getting any sleep. With any luck, the idiot Abyssals wouldn't pop up in the time she needed to compose a reply using her phone's frustratingly tiny on-screen keyboard and ever-annoying auto-correct feature.

 _Sorry. The base has been on twenty-four hour alert since I arrived. The Abyssals are making pests of themselves here, but it's nothing we can't handle._

 _As they suspected, Bismarck is Awakened. But, she's still very much like I remember her. I'm sure you'd like her. She is friends with that other battleship (USS_ Iowa _, BB-61), yes – but I don't think Iowa is as much of a bad influence as you believe._

 _She seems to be happy, and any attempts to force her to travel to Germany will probably be met with opposition, including from Bismarck herself. She believes she is needed here, and from what I've seen so far, I'd tend to agree._

 _Anyway, by the time I return home, I think I'll need at least attention days–_ Wait. She tapped the backspace key to delete the previous two words. Stupid auto-correct, converting _acht_ to _achtung_ , without asking. _–eight days of sleep at a minimum._

Eugen quickly skimmed through the entire message, wondering if there was anything else she should mention. A second later, she tapped the Send icon.

At some point during her typing, her big sister's snores had trailed away, leaving the only sound the cruiser could hear the whirr and electronic hum of the room's ceiling fan.

Her phone's screen dimmed and then shut off, dropping the room once again into sort-of darkness.

 _Oh, yeah,_ she thought, reluctantly returning her gaze to the ceiling. Back to wondering whether or not she should – or _could_ – sleep.

…On the plus side, her big sister had begun to snore, again.

* * *

Iowa idly considered her stack of bratwurst dogs, mentally counting how many she had left before she needed to restock.

The primary problem with the mess hall's 'theme days' was that the selection was often just the same old mess hall fare with different sauces or spices mixed in, or otherwise similarly 'repackaged.' Bismarck was thoroughly convinced that 'Cajun Day' alone was actually 'How Many Spices From Food Storage Can We Use Up Day.'

But then, on occasion, there were days when the mess _did_ put in the extra effort to surpass mere presentation, like today's new 'German Day.' Bratwurst dogs with sauerkraut on the side, pommes frites, and _far_ more – though Iowa's interest began and ended with the bratwurst dogs and German fries.

And a good beer, if only the mess were allowed to serve alcohol. What was German food without beer?

Ironically, the two shipgirls on-base who actually _were_ German would probably never see it. Bismarck had all but vowed never to visit the mess hall again, and Eugen appeared content to follow her "big sister's" lead.

Or was this themed day an attempt to convince Bismarck and Eugen to give the mess another chance?

Eh. The day was over – it was approaching oh-one-thirty in the morning, Bismarck should still be asleep and snoring in her room… and she hoped Eugen had also taken advantage of the opportunity for sleep.

Iowa let her gaze wander around the hall, coming to rest upon a familiar blonde-haired heavy cruiser standing in the tray line, scrutinizing one of the seafood selections.

Hmm. Maybe Eugen didn't plan her actions by the mantra, _What Would Big Sister Bismarck Do?_ after all, Iowa mused, the end of her lips curling upward into a smirk. "Hey, over here!" she called to the cruiser, as Eugen left the line.

"Iowa? You're here, too?"

"Yeah," she replied. "Had nothing better to do, so I came here for a snack."

Eugen dubiously eyed Iowa's tall stack of food for all of a couple of seconds, but said nothing, choosing to take the spot at the table standing across from the battleship.

"Sooo, Bismarck's snoring keep you awake?" Iowa teased, chuckling at the baleful glare Eugen shot her.

The German shipgirl breathed a long, tired sigh. "This is how it works, right?" she muttered humorlessly, poking at her sauerbraten as though she wasn't convinced the food was what the mess claimed it to be. "The moment I fall asleep, that's when they set off the alarms and order everyone to sortie."

Iowa's lips formed a straight line. "Pretty much. You get a lot of that in Germany?"

"A little, but I haven't been around that long. They're mostly avoiding conflict with the Abyssals for now, because we don't have the shipgirl fleet to drive them back, if they decide we're a threat."

"And having Bismarck there would turn that completely around?"

"We need all the ships we can get," countered Eugen. "If that includes big sister Bismarck, then I'm all for it."

"Hmm." Both shipgirls took to eating in silence for nearly a couple of minutes, Iowa effortlessly finishing four more bratwurst dogs liberally covered in mustard and horseradish. A thought occurred to her. "Hey, uh – Nobody's volunteered to loan Germany any shipgirl forces, or ask if they could have any international forces stationed there?"

Eugen blinked. "I… don't know. Like I said, I haven't been back that long. I guess they want to make sure our own fleet is strong, first and foremost."

"Yeah, well, I don't think they have all that much time. Sooner or later, the Abyssals're gonna decide Germany _can't_ be allowed to build their strength, and move against them."

"You mean, like they're doing here?"

"This?" snorted Iowa. "They're just playing with us. Tossing a whole lot of cannon fodder at us. They want us to think that it doesn't matter how many Abyssals we sink – there'll always be countless more out there, lurking and waiting to strike."

"You're sure about that?"

"No, of course not. But it does fit. _You_ got an explanation as to why they're wasting so much time and ships playing chicken with a U.S. naval base?"

Iowa's grating J-pop ringtone saved Eugen from having to reply. " _Now!?_ " she growled.

"Yup," the battleship affirmed, stowing the remainder of her food and resolving to pick up one or two more plates on her way out. "Now. Tell you what – since you don't seem to mind breaking into Bismarck's room, go wake her up."

She almost laughed at Eugen's effort to hide her embarrassed blush by turning away. "I-I don't know what you're talking about. But… okay, I'll try."

* * *

Did it say something about me, I wondered – that I was riding in an APC with a driver and guard, en route to the airfield to pick up Naka and Sendai when their private plane landed, and my mind was preoccupied with imagining what bizarre schemes Naka might have invented in the name of helping me 'have fun?'

She's had roughly _two weeks_ to plan.

We arrived at the airfield ahead of the small passenger jet, and proceeded to idle for the next twelve minutes, until the jet touched down and we pulled in just behind it.

Hopping out of the back of the APC, I walked to the plane's side door, watching it unfold into a set of stairs.

Sendai was the first to emerge. She came to a stop before me and stared, surveying me. "…Wow. Is there gonna be a day when you look at yourself and say, 'I have way too many guns, I should cut back?'"

Naka, meanwhile, was wrestling a somewhat more extensive selection of luggage through the door. "Shut up, Sendai. Don't make me hurt you."

The light cruiser in question made a show of pulling me down to her level – though she still had to stand on the tips of her toes – to stage-whisper into my ear, "She's always cranky on these trips. Honestly, I don't know what I'm gonna do with her."

"I _heard_ that," Naka groused. "I just want to go home and clean up, that's all."

Many shipgirls simply hated flying, preferring to float and be in complete control of their course with their screws in the water, not sealed inside a plane thousands of kilometers above that same body of water.

You wouldn't think Naka was one of them, given how she infrequently has to fly somewhere. Heck, her production company had thought it would be fun if one of her earliest music videos had her singing and dancing from one of the landing struts on an airborne helicopter, the whole time.

…okay, that could certainly be one reason to develop a dislike of flying.

We secured the sisters' luggage in the rear of the APC, and almost as soon as the three of us had climbed aboard, our driver had the truck in gear and backing away from the jet in a wide three-point turn.

"How is Kamitsuu-san?" I asked, hoping to spur the conversation.

Kamitsuu Jun had been the reason for Naka and Sendai's trip, a Japanese girl living in New York who'd Awakened as their sister, Jintsuu.

The Abyssals had attacked and destroyed the ferry Jun was riding with her parents. An unconscious, newly-Awakened Jun had been discovered, floating amongst the wreckage of the ferry – but her parents could not be found.

Naval Support Activity Saratoga Springs, the nearest naval base, forwarded the information to us, and that Jun was in shock, barely reacting or registering the world around her… or eating, which could be a problem for someone who had just Awakened as a shipgirl.

"She's doing much better now," Naka answered, in a slightly subdued voice. "She's opened up, and understands she's now a shipgirl, as well as our sister… and what that means."

"Have they located her parents?"

"No. And, they aren't the only ones missing. Seventeen of the passengers from that ferry, including Jun's parents, are unaccounted for."

"They're having her stay at the base so they can keep an eye on her, and the Admiral there's thinking about training her to be an aide," concluded Sendai.

The same note of regret I'd detected in Naka's voice, I could sense in Sendai's. We'd known there was little chance Jun would want to join her sisters here at Yokosuka, but that wouldn't stop Naka or Sendai from privately wishing she did, just as Musashi and I wished Shinano was here with us.

Unfortunately, nobody was able to guarantee that Awakenings would keep sisters together… even summonings were capable of separating us from our sisters. Hibiki, for example, had been drafted into service with the Soviet Navy and a new name. The Russians had likely had as much chance of summoning her as Verniy, as we had Hibiki.

I Awakened in the United States… but as Yamato, odds are that even without the scheme, I'd still end up returning to Japan.

Ah – I'm drifting. Time to steer back to the matter at hand.

"Yamato, I hope you're ready for more online gaming."

…Or not. Why was _Naka_ trying to change the subject? Was there something she wanted to avoid talking about?

The sisters hadn't filed any reports while on their trip. And we'd received no notices of problems from anyone – not NSA Saratoga Springs, the Japanese consulate, or the local police.

Which meant that whatever was troubling them was a personal issue, and I shouldn't pry.

"That… may not be possible," I informed her. "Musashi spends all day on my computer, now."

Naka's stare turned incredulous. "What? All day? What's she doing?"

"Research, she claims. She is interested in getting a pet, although I have only seen her watch YouTube videos about pets." I scoffed, closing my eyes. "She must have watched every last cat video on YouTube by now."

"…That's mathematically impossible. It's been proven," argued Naka.

Really? That can't be right. There has to be a fixed number of cat videos, and Musashi's been on my computer twenty-four hours a day, for who knows how many days.

Naka scooted closer to the cab. "Hey, can we detour to the mall? There's something I want to get," she called to our driver.

The mall, again? What does she want to get at the mall?

…Hold on. Is she thinking of doing _that_?

"I'm going to buy Musashi her _own_ computer," Naka announced, sliding back to her original seat.

She is.

"No, I couldn't ask you to do that. You would be wasting your money," I protested.

Naka lazily brought a hand up in a dismissive wave. "Don't worry about it. It's not like I'm saving my money to buy anything."

She suddenly found her sister's face inches from her own, Sendai wearing a saccharine smile. "In that case, how about buying one for your dear sister?"

"I did. You broke it. _And_ my laptop."

"Eh. It's cheap technology that's designed to break. You'd never catch them installing those things on us."

"Sendai…" Naka rolled her eyes. "These computers are built for civilian home use, not military. Of _course_ my laptop wasn't going to survive you pitching it across the compound!"

Oh, now I remember. Mutsu had handled that one. According to her incident report, Sendai had been… _upset…_ when the studio responsible for her favorite TV show halted production on that show, and subsequently banned her from their Twitter feeds for continuing to rant about it.

No sense letting them revisit that argument. "I take it you intend to buy the same model computer for Musashi as mine?" I inquired, and thought I saw gratitude flash through Naka's eyes at the derailment.

"She's used to your computer. We'll save ourselves a lot of time, confusion and headaches if we get her the same setup."

Naka grinned. "Besides, we can always use a fourth player on the team."

* * *

As though intent upon proving Naka's theory correct, Musashi was cuing yet another cat video when I was finally able to return to my quarters.

"Ya-Yamato?" she stammered, scrambling for the switch to turn the monitor off. "I didn't think you'd be back so soon."

Little kitten mewls continued to pipe through the speakers. With a little effort, I avoided the urge to glance at the computer. "Musashi, I'm over an hour late."

"Oh, uh… is that so?" Musashi laughed, weakly.

I cleared my throat. "Seeing as how you're not doing anything important… why don't you come with me? There is something I would like you to see."

Her fingers found the Mute button. "You know, Yamato – if you wanted me to get off the computer, you only had to ask."

I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that.

"In your room," I clarified, "there is something I would like you to see."

Musashi's eyes narrowed. "This isn't gonna be like those cartoons where you have someone waiting to throw a net over me when I go through the door, is it?"

"Would I, Yamato, do that to you?"

"You?" she asked, seemingly surprised she'd even considered it. "...No. You wouldn't. Okay, right behind you."

I led her through the doorway between our rooms, and took my position behind Naka, who had been waiting patiently next to Musashi's coffee table.

"Naka…?"

The light cruiser pulled the large cardboard computer box from ship's storage and set it on the table. "We bought you a computer of your own to use!"

I couldn't help but giggle as my sister's eyes widened and jaw dropped, looking very much like a child realizing that yes, that expensive birthday present really _was_ for her. "You… you both… you…"

"Yeah." Naka's grin was back. "We did."

I knew what Naka was doing. The only part I'd played in buying the computer had been to help Naka make sure we picked the exact same model and specs as my PC. That's it.

"Don't forget to thank Naka for your new computer, Musashi."

Musashi bowed to both of us in turn. "Thank you, Naka, Yamato."

Oh, right. "I also purchased these headphones for you," I said, pulling the blister pack from storage and laying it atop the box. "Now, you can continue to do your research, and not have to worry about the noise bothering anyone." Hint, hint…

"Actually…" She dropped to her knees in order to study the pictures and texts on the box. "I'm done with researching. I, Musashi, like _this_ pet better."

* * *

Author's notes: It's probably rather obvious, but "Kamitsuu" is an alternate family-name reading of "Jintsuu" (神通). And, yes, if you were wondering, "Hikaru" is indeed an alternate reading of "Inazuma" (電).

Special thanks: Pyeknu, J. St. C. Patrick


	14. Go East, Young Carrier

Shinano's thoughts lurched, starting out gentle then gaining momentum as they swayed to and fro, crashing into other thoughts and worries… either adding those to the main current, or sending her mind bobbing off momentarily on a tangent.

She shook her head. _Dammit, I'm even starting to liken my thought process to the tides,_ she realized, bemusedly.

How did the other Awakened, like Irene, handle this? Earlier in the month, she'd been intent upon returning to Naval Base San Diego to join her old friend in a nice, quiet office posting, having barely managed to survive an Abyssal attack during what was supposed to have been a mere shakedown cruise.

Instead, she'd arrived to find Irene was now a battleship shipgirl, grateful for the chance to participate in the fight against those… the Abyssals.

Her friend – now the USS _Iowa_ – had met a number of the Japanese shipgirls, during a brief stay at Yokosuka Naval Base in Japan. That had led to an unexpected video conference call between her, Iowa and Bismarck, and the two sister battleships Yamato and Musashi.

She remembered being again impressed by the strength of Yamato's resolve, and then… waking up on a cold metal table, with Vestal and the Admiral observing her. Discovering that she was now Shinano, Yamato and Musashi's kid sister, and had spent the last two weeks unconscious due primarily to the _Shinano_ never having been properly completed before she was deployed and sunk.

At least, as far as Vestal was concerned.

They'd worked on her for those two weeks, completing and improving her – as weird as _that_ was to think – and now, she was supposedly just as seaworthy and combat-ready as any other carrier shipgirl, with one exception.

Her former self had never received her proper air wing.

That was why she was seated on the floor of a military cargo plane beginning its descent toward the small airfield near Yokosuka. The Admiral had arranged a temporary assignment for her to Yokosuka, so she could receive her planes, have _the_ Akagi evaluate her and her faerie pilots and offer more training, if necessary… and the event that worried her the most, meet her sisters in person.

She'd asked why she couldn't simply form an air wing from American planes, instead; Vestal had calmly informed her that while to her knowledge, most carrier shipgirls had no major issues with fielding their original air wings, it was theoretically possible for her to support completely different sets of planes… after she'd undergone the full refit she would likely need to carry and supply the planes, and had her pilots completely retrained and certified for the new planes, naturally.

It was possible the old repair ship had stretched the truth a little. Planes were planes, right?

When her pilots berated her for thinking such a thing, and shouted over each other trying to explain why, she winced. Obviously, she had made a mistake directing that question inward.

Ah. She certainly _felt_ different. The body, what normal people like the Admiral saw, was completely changed… bigger, stronger, sure. But inside… she could feel the duality – that she was a metal warship with an active faerie crew attending to their duties within her, _and_ a 'human' girl, at the same time. Shinano still wasn't used to it.

She was – inexplicably – a shipgirl. _Shinano_. Yamato's ill-fated younger sister. Originally intended to be the third _Yamato_ -class battleship, the IJN had shifted gears in mid-construction and decided to have her be a carrier, instead. And even _that_ conversion hadn't been anywhere near complete when the higher-ups decided she needed to be deployed, with a payload of kamikaze bombs.

Maybe it was a good thing she'd been sunk, she decided, closing her eyes.

 _But that's the past,_ Shinano told herself. She was a shipgirl now… and complete. No more questionable missions for her, if she had anything to say about it!

She sighed, staring up into what she could see of the poorly-lit ceiling, far above her. It was easy, as a shipgirl, to pretend she hadn't been horribly shaken by the Abyssals' attack on the _Amarillo_ , eventually finding strength in Yamato.

Good thing that as a carrier, she wasn't expected to be a front-liner, despite her armor and guns.

"I know they said it wasn't really necessary," the pilot's voice announced over the intercom, "but to be safe, you might wanna hold on to something. We're about to land."

Unnecessary, because as a somewhat newly-Awakened shipgirl, the 'period of adjustment' that caused shipgirls to temporarily reflect a parallel of their original displacement, she'd believed Bismarck was enduring, now applied to her. The _Shinano_ 's maximum displacement had been somewhere close to 70,000 tons, and who knew how much the repair ships' efforts had added to that?

It would theoretically take more force than a cargo plane's landing generated to budge her – and the less she thought about just how much strain she was placing on the plane and APCs, the better…

…oh, _hell_.

* * *

Nagato's eyes tracked the cargo plane's ramp as it lowered, the edge impacting against the runway pavement with a loud, echoing thud barely a meter away.

The sound of footsteps drew her gaze back to the top of the ramp, where the shipgirl who could only be Shinano stood, considering the world outside the plane.

Shinano's origins as a _Yamato_ -class battleship were clear; as a shipgirl, she shared her sisters' build and uniform, a carrier's muneate the only sign indicating to all she _wasn't_ actually a battleship.

Other shipgirls could see past that, to the battleship hull repurposed in mid-stream. A carrier's armored flight deck, and an impressive arsenal. Shinano was an interesting carrier…

 _A carrier with a Yamato-class appetite,_ Nagato reminded herself, already calculating the figures for the necessary increases in food-supply and budget. Inviting Shinano had been the Admiral's idea, but he clearly wasn't aware of the level of budget-balancing she had to do for Yamato and her sisters' sake.

"Shinano?" she called to the carrier, who was slowly making her way down the ramp. "I'm Nagato, and I am here to escort you to the base."

The younger _Yamato_ stepped closer to her, gently swinging the duffel bag she was carrying off her shoulder, and resting it at her feet. She eyed Nagato. "Yamato, Musashi… they're not here?"

Nagato shook her head. "The Admiral wanted to surprise them. We haven't informed them you were going to visit." It had been somewhat more difficult to keep Yamato out of the loop than expected – Yamato was showing quite a bit of promise as an aide, and learning to read into what _wasn't_ said or done at the office.

That, and the Admiral seemed almost absolutely incapable of lying to Yamato.

"…Oh," said Shinano, and some of her tension visually ebbed.

"Are you nervous about meeting your sisters?"

The carrier fell in beside her, Nagato pivoting on one heel as she began leading the base's latest guest to their APC. "I met Yamato and Musashi over a group video chat right before I Awakened. But at that point, I technically wasn't their sister."

Nagato gave her a curious look… but Shinano didn't catch it, the taller shipgirl's eyes fixed on the APC. Why would Shinano avoid her question in such a manner?

Ah, yes. The video calls. She'd been meaning to look into those. None of the military bases in Japan used this 'Skype,' to her knowledge – though Yamato and Naka did, to stay in touch with Iowa – which suggested it was more a novelty than a proven means of communication.

There was no denying that it had worked well enough to play a role in Lieutenant Commander Kobayashi's Awakening as Shinano, however.

Another Awakened shipgirl. So many had appeared, of late… Iowa might well end up leading the most unusual fleet in history.

* * *

"Yamato?" The Admiral's voice filtered into my office. "Would you happen to know where Nagato filed the expense report for that operation to take out that Princess, last week?"

"No, sir, I'm afraid I don't." If Nagato won't even allow her own sister to look through her files, why would anyone expect _me_ to have access to those files?

Was Nagato hoping to make herself appear indispensable, or just trying to keep the rest of us from messing up her filing system?

Absently, I retrieved my cellphone from its pouch, stepping around my desk and into the main office, where the Admiral was peering into Nagato's to-file drawer. "Should I call Nagato, and ask her where it is?"

The main door opened. "I would prefer that, yes," the battleship in question dryly answered from the doorway.

She walked to her desk. "Which files are you looking for, Admiral?"

"The expense report for last week's operation."

"I'll print a copy of it for you."

"But if you have it filed on your computer, shouldn't I be able to find it over the network?"

You'd think he would know Nagato's filing procedures by now.

I turned to head back into my office, assured that Nagato yet again had matters under control. The latest stack of complaints about shipgirl behavior on or off-base was still waiting for my evaluation.

"Yamato, wait."

"Yes?"

"There's someone outside, waiting to meet you," was all Nagato would say.

I blinked, giving her a curious look. Her even stare didn't change.

 _Okay, fine,_ I thought, extending my senses outward, past the office building. I normally didn't run long-range scans while on-base, due to the heavy 'background noise' and the wide array of advance-detection measures we have in place – yes, including shipgirl patrols and other, newer spiritual-based attempts to detect the Abyssals.

There. Just outside the door, a larger-displacement shipgirl… a battleship? Carrier? And she was IDing… as…

I barely felt myself gasp, and drop the cellphone I hadn't put away.

"You can come in now, Shinano." Nagato's voice was distant, as if I were hearing her through a fog bank. "She's aware you're here."

Shinano… my little sister… is _here_!? How?

The door opened once more. She… she warily edged into the office, setting her duffel bag beside the door, and… blushed, staring at her feet.

What?

I haltingly took a step toward her. Then, another. "…Shinano?"

Her blush increased.

Alright, that's _it_. Three more strides closed the gap between us. "Shinano, come here," I ordered, opening my arms.

She blushed even more, if that was at all possible, but convinced herself to walk into my embrace.

I drew her into the warmest hug I could manage. Just as when Musashi had returned, everything at once felt complete and _right_. "Welcome home, little sister."

Tentatively, she returned the hug.

"She's only temporarily assigned to us, Yamato." Oh, don't ruin my moment, Nagato!

I sighed, moving my sister to arm's length so I could surreptitiously assess the work the American repair ships had done. _Not bad._ "I figured as much. What I meant was that as long as her sisters are here, this will always be a place she can call home." She had been laid down, built and commissioned at the Yokosuka Naval Arsenal, at that, so perhaps calling Yokosuka Naval Base 'home' wasn't necessarily too far off the mark.

"So," I prodded, somewhat awkwardly. Shinano had calmed, though her dark brown eyes still held hints of her earlier nervousness. "What are your orders, Shinano?"

"I was sent here to… receive my air wing, be evaluated by Akagi, and undergo training with her and other carriers as necessary," she answered.

Her hesitation, I'm assuming, is due to being newly-Awakened. She's not completely used to thinking of herself as a shipgirl or carrier.

I glanced in Nagato's direction. "Has she been assigned quarters, yet?"

She nodded. "Shinano will be staying in the carriers' barracks. I have arranged for Zuikaku to help her settle in and show her around."

"I would offer to do it, if I weren't on duty," I said, releasing my sister and offering her a sad, small smile.

"N-no, that's okay!" Shinano anxiously raised her hands before her. "I mean, I understand. Please, don't neglect your duties on my behalf."

Taking a cue from Nagato, I forced a stern tone to my voice. "Shinano, we are sisters. If there is any way I can help, or be there for you, I will not hesitate to do so," I vowed.

She appeared slightly overwhelmed, at a loss for words. "Yamato…," Shinano breathed at last.

Reluctantly, I took a step back. "I should allow you to unpack and settle in. We'll have plenty of time to talk, later." She's carrying her duffel bag; Nagato must have just brought her from the airfield. "Have you paid Musashi and Misa a visit?" I inquired, well aware she most likely hadn't. Musashi would be radioing me about it the moment it happened.

"I'll take her to see them." Nagato made her way to the door. "Is Musashi still spending the entire day on her computer?"

She'd taken both Naka and I to task for that, buying my sister a computer of her own when Musashi was _clearly_ addicted to wasting all her time online. But as it had come down to a choice between buying Musashi a computer, or letting her continue to occupy my computer and room almost as though she were aspiring to be an Installation-type Abyssal…

And while we were currently able to deploy alongside everyone else, nothing our fleet has faced in the past couple of weeks has really required the presence of a battleship. Naturally, that meant Musashi has had fewer reasons to leave her room.

Misa, on the other hand, often wasn't as easy to locate; something had inspired her to spend more time participating in training exercises.

I frowned. "She doesn't spend the _entire_ day on her computer." Musashi continued to make her regular trips to the mess, baths, and occasional runs to restock her snacks.

"You don't _really_ believe that, do you, Yamato?"

* * *

"…and these are your quarters," Zuikaku concluded, the twin-tailed carrier sweeping her hand across the room in a flourish more dismissive than showy.

Shinano gave the room a quick once-over. Standard officer's quarters for a military base in Japan, with a Western-style bed… a bed she couldn't use, for the time being. She'd been assured a full futon set would be waiting for her in her closet upon arrival.

Iowa had no problems merely spreading the blankets and pillows from her bed on her floor and falling asleep on _those_ , but Irene had never really minded sleeping on bare floors. Now, Bismarck, with her semi-expensive futon mattress set, she had the right idea.

"Here. These are for you."

Her eyes widened as Zuikaku drew what appeared to be a wrapped bentou box from ship's storage. _Wait,_ she thought. _We can_ _ **do**_ _that!? I've been carrying my bag around this whole trip, when I could've stored it… aboard… me?_

At once, every member of her faerie crew blurted an apology, their voices merging into a loud, chaotic mess. _What do you mean, you forgot to tell me?_ she hazarded. _All of you?_

Historical accounts claimed that the _Shinano_ 's crew had been green, inexperienced. If the _ship_ had returned… did the same also hold true for her crew?

Shinano accepted the box and unwrapped it, to find five rust-colored ore rocks flecked with spots varying lighter shades of brown.

"Bauxite," the other carrier clarified. "You'll need those to help get construction on your planes underway."

Zuikaku's amber eyes suddenly hardened with an intensity that nearly caused the taller Shinano to retreat a step. "This is very important," she insisted, reaching up to grasp Shinano's shoulders, forcing the shipgirl to meet her gaze. "It is _imperative_ that you hide those in a secure location. Under no circumstances are you to let Akagi know you have them. Don't even have them anywhere on or aboard you in her presence." Her voice descended to a mutter. "I swear, she's learned to detect bauxite by _smell_."

She shook her head, dismissing that thought. "Do you understand?" Zuikaku asked, to which Shinano mutely nodded in reply. "Good. Don't forget. It's not easy to get bauxite around here."

Shinano opened her mouth to protest, suggest that if bauxite were so scarce, surely other carriers needed it more than she did – but Zuikaku had already turned on her heels to leave and was almost completely through the door. She hesitated. "One more thing. If you happen to draw Kaga for training, she's very… ah, strict. Yeah. She'll require your kyuudou forms and execution to be _perfect_. Even in your sleep."

 _Joy,_ mused Shinano. _As if I had any real skill in archery to begin with._

The box of ores she held caught her attention. She eased one from the box, cupping it in the palm of her hand, and considered it.

Bauxite wasn't _that_ rare, was it? Sure, Naval Base San Diego had no stockpiles of the ore… though that was only because their fleet had never been able to count any carrier shipgirls among the ranks, until her Awakening. Admiral Treston insisted he'd filed the order for bauxite shipments the day she was to depart for Japan.

Shinano raised the ore to her mouth, and risked a small test nibble. Thank goodness she was well past the point where she might have been stunned by the concept of actually eating a rock. Vestal, old repair ship that she was, had handled it by informing her of all the new things she could now eat or drink… and then promptly chaining her to the drydock table upon which she sat, refusing to let her leave until she drank a canister of ship fuel and ate a couple of the steel rebar rods that were stacked in a dusty corner of the workshop.

She made a face; there was a mild metallic kick to the taste she hadn't expected, but she'd get used to it.

She'd have to. A carrier, who couldn't stomach bauxite? Absurd.

The very instant she finished eating, Shinano could _feel_ her crew explode into action, construction work begin on her complement of Reppuus. It was a good start, they told her. Unfortunately, she was running a little low on fuel and supplies.

As though agreeing with the assessment, her stomach promptly growled.

 _Fine._ Rewrapping the 'bentou box,' she hastily stowed it as deep within her duffel bag as she was able to manage, tossing the bag into her closet – alongside the futon set carefully folded and stored there, Shinano noted with satisfaction.

Time to hit the mess hall.

* * *

One good thing about being a shipgirl, Shinano supposed, was that nobody batted an eye when a carrier left the mess with enough food to feed a hungry platoon of soldiers, all in the name of refueling and restocking.

Nagato had indicated that _Yamato_ -class ships were verified to have some of the largest appetites of any known shipgirl in the world – gee, thanks, Nagato – but she wasn't sure how true the dreadnought's words actually were. How could her eldest sister possibly eat more food than any other shipgirl, on a regular basis, and still maintain a perfect figure?

Briefly wondering if perhaps there had been another interpretation of Nagato's comment she'd missed, Shinano absently dipped into her bowl of katsudon, her chopsticks intently seeking the largest combination of tonkatsu and rice she could snatch, and popped it into her mouth.

Someone immediately behind her uttered a short giggle. "Ah, you must be Shinano," a lilting voice remarked. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Akagi."

Shinano's eyes went wide, even as she turned to face the newcomer. "A-A-Ak'gi-s'ma!?"

How Akagi's face hadn't ended up covered with half-chewed bits of tonkatsu and rice, she would never know.

Instead, Akagi wore a gentle, unassuming smile, that remained fixed in place as she set a massive meal to rival the younger carrier's on the table opposite her, sliding the chair out. "Just 'Akagi' will do, thank you."

Shinano hurriedly swallowed her mouthful of food. She froze. Akagi was treating her as a peer? "But… you're _Akagi_. A legend. I – the _Shinano_ – was a conversion so rushed, they didn't have time to force me into a completely different ship class before I was sunk." Scary thought… if the IJN's plans for her had succeeded, she would be only distantly related to Yamato and Musashi, with who knew how few sisters?

"You're complete, now, and reunited with your sisters," commented Akagi, a little too quickly. "You have a chance to finally show everyone your true strength. I'm sure you will make your sisters proud, and I am looking forward to working with you."

A blush surged, overtaking Shinano. She fought to suppress it, imagining her face must be as scarlet as Akagi's hakama… though if Akagi had noticed, she couldn't tell, the other carrier seemingly – not to mention conveniently – distracted by her stockpile of food. "Th-thank you," she acknowledged.

…wait a minute. She took stock of the food, both hers and Akagi's, then the small table hidden somewhere underneath all that food. "Ah… Akagi?" Damn it, but that would take some getting used to. "How is the table not buckling under all this?"

As far as she could tell, it was a standard military-issue mess-hall table, designed more for portability than keeping shipgirl meals from crashing to the tiled floor. Yet, somehow, all of the tables in the hall were having no issues weathering the loads.

Akagi's cheeks tinged a light shade of pink. "I try not to think about it."

* * *

"And… I'm done. _Finally._ "

Cheryl laid her head upon her desk, taking care to first move the computer's mouse out of the way. Her essay on Yamato was _complete_. Cover page, six pages typed and double-spaced.

Well, technically, she had to triple-check the paper, verify that everything made sense and did not, somehow, connect Yamato to Haruka in any way.

But she was finished. And her World History teacher, Mr. Sullivan, had better not have any problems with the text. Writing an extensive essay about a prominent shipgirl who just so happened to secretly be a close friend wasn't an easy task.

Yokosuka Naval Base maintained a policy of not releasing the battle records for any member of its shipgirl fleet to the public. The email she'd sent asking if they would consider sending her Yamato's battle records had been politely refused, through a form letter that read remarkably like it had been mangled by an online translator.

As a result, she'd had to resort to what various people on the Internet had deduced about Yamato's missions after the shipgirl's 'summoning.' No doubt everyone else in the class ended up doing much the same thing. How in the world did their insane teacher expect them to obtain that data? It wasn't as if any of the shipgirls – yes, even _Naka_ – ran a Facebook page detailing their every mission!

…Whatever. The research and essay were done. Finished.

" _You've got spam!_ "

Cheryl brought her head up while the lackluster sound clip she had set for her email alert played. _One of these times,_ she thought, clicking on her email client in the tray, _I'm gonna open this thing to find a mail from Haruka._

She scanned her inbox to find… an email from Haruka's father. _Not good enough, people._

" _Miss Nelson,_ " the email began. " _I was wondering if you would be interested in working as my aide. You must be willing to learn Japanese, however._ "

Work… as Mr. Kinoshita's aide? Huh. Very interesting. At the very least, being the man's aide gave her access to any shipgirl news that was sent his way, including information about Yamato… Haruka. And if he _did_ develop a good plan for keeping in contact with Haruka…

But the question was, could she learn to speak Japanese? It had only taken Haruka two to three years to sound fluent enough in English. Japanese, by contrast, was supposed to be a rather difficult language to learn, everyone said.

Was she willing to go to those lengths in the hope of being able to speak with Haruka again?

 _Heaven help me, I think I am._

* * *

 _I_ _ **still**_ _don't get it._

Almost as if they were aware of Iowa's theory and wanted to prove her wrong, the Abyssals had culminated their campaign to – as Iowa put it – 'play chicken with a U.S. naval base,' with an assault led by _two_ Aircraft Carrier Princesses.

They'd eventually sunk every last Abyssal, of course. But Bismarck had insisted upon doing it while wearing another set of service khakis, much to Eugen's continued bewilderment, and gone to great lengths to keep that particular uniform from meeting the same fate as her first U.S. Navy uniform in battle.

What was so blasted special about the USN uniforms that big sister Bismarck would choose them over her armored shipgirl uniform? It didn't make sense!

The Abyssals had gone quiet since that battle, which offered Eugen plenty of time to puzzle over her big sister's bizarre behavior.

With the idea that maybe, she needed to _wear_ the clothes to understand, the heavy cruiser had purchased a set of general fatigues, and service khakis similar to Bismarck's.

For her first test, she removed her cap, dressed in the fatigues, and set out for a walk around the compound.

Forty-one minutes later, as she stood just shy of the curving road that led to the docks, wondering if she should decide the experiment was a failure and head back to her quarters, a heavy cruiser she didn't recognize rushed up to her. " _THERE_ you are!" the cruiser exclaimed, grabbing her by the wrist and began urgently towing her toward the docks.

"Wh-what's going on?" asked Eugen.

"We got patrols, remember?"

Well, no. Eugen was certain she would remember being slated for a patrol, and any shipgirls with whom she shared the assignment.

"See? Everyone's there, waiting for–"

Eugen barely had time to register that three more cruisers were indeed assembled and waiting at the edge of one of the docks, before her kidnapper's grip went slack, snapping her forward like a steel pinball into the group.

She collided with a honey-haired shipgirl wearing a naval-blue sailor's uniform and cap, both of them collapsing to the dock in a jumbled pile.

Groaning, Eugen slowly pulled herself to her feet, and extended a hand to help the other shipgirl do the same.

Bluish-gray eyes met… bluish-gray eyes.

The two shipgirls stared at each other, the spell broken only when both cruisers realized just _who_ stood opposite them…

" _ **Aaaaaaah!**_ "

* * *

Author's notes:

...well, you know what they say about Pringles…

Special thanks: J. St. C. Patrick


	15. She IS Heavy, She's My Sister

" _ **Aaaaaaah!**_ "

The girl opposite Eugen was the first to break the spell of actually having met _herself_ ; panicking, she tore her hand from Eugen's own and leapt backward toward the end of the dock, keeping her eyes fixed on her former self. "S-stay away from me!" she demanded. "Don't follow me, don't try to find me, come anywhere near me or t-talk to me! You got that?" With that, the reincarnate Eugen hopped onto the water, setting course for the ocean and red-lining her turbines.

Awkwardly, the three other cruisers – her teammates? – alternated between staring at Eugen and the receding form of her reincarnate… and wordlessly chose to follow their teammate, stepping off the dock.

Eugen let her arms drop, thoroughly confused. _But… what?_

She had a reincarnate!

 _A reincarnate who wants nothing to do with me,_ came the sobering thought. _Or is scared. Or both._

Why would her reincarnate be afraid of _her_? What had she done to warrant that fear?

The three cruisers had caught up to other-Eugen, forming a tight circle around her to keep the heavy cruiser from moving unless she wanted to collide with another ship. One of the cruisers pointed urgently in her direction without looking, a sign an argument was taking place… until other-Eugen forced her way through the blockade, once again steaming for the ocean.

She reached the end of Eugen's range of detection, and 'vanished.'

Eugen lowered herself to sit at the edge of the dock, watching her feet dangle just above the surface of the water. Should she… ignore her other self's order and follow?

No. What reason did she have, other than curiosity – a need to know more about her 'future self' – to essentially disrespect herself?

 _The Admiral,_ she realized. _He_ _ **has**_ _to be aware of her. Why didn't– why hasn't he said anything?_

* * *

"…Sir? Prinz Eugen is here to see you."

Admiral Treston raised his gaze from the disorganized pile of papers strewn across his desk, and glanced through his office's open doorway. It was a bad habit, definitely – he could see very little of the outer office from his desk, and his aide's desk and the main entrance were both located within the blind spot. "Send her in," he called.

One look at the depressed heavy cruiser that shuffled into the office, wearing U.S. military fatigues as opposed to her regular German shipgirl uniform, told him what had most likely happened.

"You met _her_ , didn't you?" he guessed, softly.

"Why didn't you tell me I have a reincarnate, and she's here?"

The Admiral sighed. "It was her request."

"But _why_?" asked Eugen, and he thought he could detect a hint of pain in her voice. How this must look, to her… finding she has a reincarnate, only for that shipgirl to tell Eugen to _go away_.

"She was a Navy brat. Idealistic, by-the-book, patriotic, and so forth. Probably had her entire military career mapped out years before she ever enlisted.

The appearance of the Abyssals significantly changed those plans, I'm sure. As did her Awakening as the USS _Prinz Eugen_ some months ago."

Eugen winced at the mention of her temporary U.S. Navy ship name. She had managed to survive the war, merely to be taken by the United States as a war prize – if only to keep the Soviets from claiming her. They'd given her a new hull number and the slightly-altered name to further 'hide' her.

Falling further into disrepair, her final fate was to be used as a target during the Operation Crossroads nuclear arms tests.

A part of her dimly recalled other ships that had also been forced to participate in the tests, like the Imperial Japanese Navy's _Nagato_. She'd happened to overhear Iowa mention Nagato was in Japan, 'sucking all the fun out of everything, as usual,' whatever that meant.

The revelation had given her hope. That so many ship-spirits were able to return as shipgirls despite having met terrible fates…

"After that, she began to worry that the German Navy would discover she's here and demand she be turned over to them," the Admiral was saying. "Everyone figured the chances of that happening were unlikely, as long as nobody contacted Germany to directly discuss it with them. And after a while, she seemed to have quit worrying about it. Was back to her old self, reportedly."

He paused for a breath. "Until Bismarck showed up on our doorstep."

"…Yes," admitted Eugen, reluctantly. "They would be far more interested in retrieving big sister Bismarck than… than me."

How her reincarnate's fears must have mounted. Bismarck had quickly attracted the attention of the German Navy after footage of her fighting Abyssals alongside Iowa spread throughout the world. In turn, the German Navy had sent shipgirl Prinz Eugen – her former self! – to convince Bismarck the battleship was needed in Germany.

That Germany had precious few shipgirls to its fleet, and were very interested in recovering as many of its ships as possible, was hardly a secret. Sure, she wasn't a battleship… but what fools would pass up an opportunity to obtain a heavy cruiser in addition to Bismarck, when Germany needed ships?

"She asked me not to let Bismarck know about her, though I imagine that might become difficult to enforce with Iowa proving herself more and more suited for the role of Fleet commander with every passing deployment. Iowa won't hesitate to tell Bismarck if she notices the name, 'USS Prinz Eugen,' on any rosters, especially after meeting you."

That was true, Eugen supposed. Her reincarnate seemed to only be _reacting_ to everything as it happened, not planning ahead – not that _she_ could think of any workable alternatives, offhand, aside from requesting a transfer.

It was only a matter of time before Iowa or Bismarck discovered her. Worse, the roster of shipgirls stationed at the base wasn't exactly secret, Eugen knew; if her superiors were curious enough to appropriate a copy of the list with the intent of evaluating Bismarck's allies…

The whole predicament was a big mess, no doubt about it. But at least she could try to extend an olive branch to her future self… "Tell her… I won't tell anyone about her. Not Iowa, big sister Bismarck, nor my superiors," she affirmed. "I can't guarantee she'll remain hidden from _everyone else_ , but I won't be the one to reveal her presence." Closing her eyes, Eugen softly exhaled.

* * *

 _She's not in her quarters, the mess or at any of the training ranges. So where is she?_

Bismarck pursed her lips.

When her 'little sister' had arrived on-base, Eugen was perfectly content to remain joined at the hip to her. But now that the cruiser had settled in, more or less, she was beginning to drift away from that mindset, behave more independently. Bismarck welcomed the change, even if Eugen continued trying to argue in favor of Why Big Sister Bismarck Should Go To Germany at least once a day.

It was payday, and as the three of them had no duties scheduled for the next day or so, Bismarck had seized the opportunity. She'd been meaning to get around to heading into San Diego proper, again, this time taking Iowa and her 'little sister' with her – the latter, to sightsee, as Bismarck doubted Eugen had had a chance to do such things since her summoning.

Iowa had declined the invitation, however, claiming she had a few things to do… including wait for a Skype call from Shinano.

Shinano's hopes that Iowa was recording any video calls that arrived over Iowa's open line while the battleship was out had been dashed. Bismarck didn't know why Iowa was refusing to set up any sort of recorder; the hard drives in Iowa's tower had _more_ than enough free space.

Well. That left her to go into the city alone, with Eugen.

Assuming she could _find_ the cruiser, anyway.

The blaring proximity alarms and yells of her faeries were the only advance warning she had, a mere instant before a smaller ship collided head-on with her.

Absently, Eugen reversed course, pushing herself away from Bismarck with a muttered "sorry," and continued on her way.

Bismarck watched her walk away in confusion. "Uh… Eugen?"

The heavy cruiser blinked, slowly turning around.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, big sister Bismarck!" said Eugen, brightly. "Why do you ask?"

Bismarck dubiously raised a sculptured eyebrow. "Hmm," she murmured. "It could be how you seemed fairly out of it when you ran into me, a moment ago."

The adorable embarrassed blush that surfaced on the cruiser's face gave her pause. "Oh. Uh…"

Eugen gathered her resolve. "Have – have you ever thought about what would happen if you met… your sister?"

"My… sister?" _Tirpitz,_ the name immediately sprang to mind. Bismarck blinked. But why would Eugen ask such a question?

Did Eugen know something about Tirpitz she didn't? Or was the cruiser doing that thing where someone tried to solve a problem by transposing it onto someone else, to see how that person might deal with a similar set of circumstances?

Prinz Eugen had three sisters, although Bismarck couldn't recall their names, offhand – embarrassing, as she _knew_ one of the yet-to-be-summoned sisters was the name-ship of their class.

"I do think about her often, yes," she said, earnestly. "Because I know that with the way things are going, I will be seeing her before too long." The vision she'd had, imagining the three of them posing for a picture… she and Eugen had never met as shipgirls, and yet Eugen precisely matched her appearance from the vision.

Which meant that Tirpitz would also share her vision-counterpart's appearance.

Bismarck smiled to herself, a thin, knowing smile. "And you? Are you prepared to meet your sisters?"

"…I don't know. I thought I was, but how can I be sure they'll all be happy to see me?"

"They're your sisters," Bismarck answered, regarding her.

"That isn't a guarantee," snapped Eugen. "For example, I'm the only one of us who survived the war. What if they decide to resent me for that?"

Bismarck frowned, the expression strongly reminding Eugen of the look of unyielding determination the battleship wore when opening fire. "If they did, would _you_ let that come between you? Look at Tirpitz and I. She outlived me, but I know that was through no fault of her own, and we would be stupid to let that drive us apart."

She shook her head. "Now, that's enough depression for today. I don't suppose you'd mind going into the city with me? We can sightsee, check a few shops, get something to eat…"

"Ooooh." Eugen perked. "Just us? No Iowa?"

"Well… we have to have a minder." A particularly bad night of chaos that had _begun_ with a bar-room brawl and spent the remainder of the evening tearing through San Diego, had led to any and all members of the Naval Base San Diego fleet requiring a minder or two in order to leave the compound when not deploying, for the time being. "And… someone to drive the APC. But, yes, it'll only be the two of us. No Iowa."

"Are the people they have serving as minders nice, or cold and strict?"

"I haven't met her, but I hear O'Connell's the latter. Yeoman Cavanaugh's okay. Just… um, if she starts going off about Burger King, ignore her."

* * *

 _Nope, no submarines here, either,_ Shinano concluded with a slight note of annoyance, sliding her closet door shut.

That she had to check her room for submarines _at all_ was a new necessity, brought on as a result of actually finding a submarine standing nonchalantly in the middle of her room on returning, a couple of nights ago.

In securely-locked quarters.

The sub shipgirl, wearing an insufferable grin, had begun to crow that she was standing there _just to prove she could do it_ , when a rather peeved battleship – Kongou, Shinano wanted to say – poked her head through the open door, noticed the sub-girl… and grabbed her, hauling the protesting sub out of the room.

Everyone had something to say about the girl – I-19, or her chosen name, "Iku." Iku was infamous for being extremely lewd _and_ her annoying apparent habit of breaking into others' quarters to pull pranks. Even Yamato wasn't safe from the menace.

Stupid submarines. Maybe she could see if Akashi had any ASW gear handy. Or at the very least, a lot of depth charges.

Shinano withdrew her laptop from ship's storage, resting it upon her kitchen counter and running the necessary power and Ethernet cables to their wall sockets. Subconsciously, she opened the laptop, bringing it out of hibernation and waiting for the system to realize it had an Internet connection.

Another moment with the touchpad popped up Skype, and set it to call Iowa.

Somewhere across the Pacific, Iowa's computer automatically activated her webcam… treating Shinano to a full-screen view of the battleship, fast asleep at her desk, her straw-colored permed hair splaying everywhere.

 _This, ladies and gentlemen, is the battleship_ Iowa _. Feared by Abyssals far and wide._

She hesitated, debating whether or not to save a copy of the image. _Oh, what the hell,_ Shinano thought, tapping the key command to call up her screenshot utility.

"Hey, Irene!" she shouted. "C'mon, wake up!"

"… _wha?_ "

"Now, if you _want_ to leave your Skype line open and fall asleep in front of the camera, I'm sure I won't mind calling you at random times just to wake you up."

The disheveled battleship attempted to raise both middle fingers to the camera. " _Go t'hell, Shino._ "

"Battleships first."

Iowa's frustrated, tired groan quickly shifted into a grumble, the sound echoing throughout Shinano's all-but-empty quarters in spite of her laptop's lower-quality speakers.

Irene had never been much of a morning person.

"Don't tell me you've been waiting for my call all day," teased Shinano. Knowing Irene, she _had_ done precisely that, so best to give her an opportunity to reboot.

Iowa straightened herself, taking a moment to draw her hair back with both hands. "… _Yeah, so?_ "

" _So_ , we agreed on a specific time. You don't sit there all day waiting for… for Naka or Yamato to sign on when gaming, do you?" How Irene and Naka had managed to talk _Yamato_ , of all shipgirls, into playing games online with them… Shinano was sure that had to be an interesting story.

" _What's Yamato up to?_ "

The young carrier's gaze dropped to her lap, in the hope of hiding the blush she knew was forming from Iowa. "Fussing over me, when she's not at work. She even said it out loud – 'We are sisters. If there is any way I can help, or be there for you, I will not hesitate to do so.'"

Iowa barked a laugh. " _Yeah, that's Yamato. If she believes in something, she'll fully commit herself._ " Her lips quirked in an odd pout. " _Which includes her work for Admiral Goto's office, too._ "

There it was, again. That distaste Irene held for Yamato's ongoing assignment as one of Goto's aides. She insisted she wanted to prevent her friend from experiencing burn-out – or from letting time pass and then discovering she'd been in the same office, doing the exact same mind-numbing work, for years.

She couldn't fault Irene for that. Unless… were there any other reasons behind her friend's desire to 'help' her elder sister?

 _So, Yamato… How many Abyssals have you sunk, lately? Can't let me get too far ahead, eh?_

No. Iowa was _not_ trying to manipulate Yamato for the sake of a silly rivalry. She knew just as well as anyone else that getting Yamato out of the office didn't guarantee the battleship would be deployed that much more often. Musashi was proof enough of that.

And if Iowa did end up using the rivalry as part of a scheme to push Yamato into doing something, well… she owed it to her big sister Yamato to help protect her from things like that.

 _Heh. I've been hanging around Eugen, too much._

" _Now that you've been there a few days, what do you think? How's your training and everything else going? Don't leave anything out._ "

Shinano sighed. "It wasn't until this morning that construction completed on my Ryuseis, and my crew got everything secured and squared away. Akagi agreed to evaluate me before lunch; she said I might need the food to construct more planes, afterward."

"… _And? Did you?_ "

The carrier closed her eyes. "Well…"

* * *

"All carriers, even those of us who were converted, have an innate knowledge regarding how to launch their planes," intoned Akagi. "Try to… connect with that ability, allow it to guide you."

In a motion that was deceptively serene, Akagi drew her bow and a single arrow. Nocking the arrow, she pivoted at the waist, aiming for the nearest archery target on the training course… and let it fly, only a hint of determination crossing her face.

As the arrow reached the halfway point, it suddenly transformed into a small-scale Zero, Akagi's faerie pilot expertly climbing into the skies above the target and running through a few showy maneuvers for Shinano's benefit.

Akagi raised her flight deck. The Zero banked around Shinano one last time before returning home for a landing, taxiing and screeching to a halt – at which point the plane vanished into a swirl of golden sparkles, an arrow subsequently blinking into existence within Akagi's quiver. "Now, you try. Aim for the target to the left of mine. Center yourself, focus, and try to tap into your ability."

Her motions less sure than Akagi's, Shinano took a deep breath, setting herself as she reached for her own bow and an arrow.

 _Focus_ , Akagi said. The ability, if not the grace or polish, was within her.

She nocked the arrow, sighted along it to the center of the target, and let it fly.

Only when her faerie pilot assumed control of the Reppuu that formed from the arrow did she realize that her grip on the bow had wobbled the instant she released, locking her hapless pilot on a collision course with the water scant meters from the target.

"Mmm," Akagi murmured. "Let's try that again."

* * *

Shinano glared at the video feed of a battleship loudly snickering from her quarters, safely in another country.

Another good thing about the change – now that they were both shipgirls, decking Irene was once again an option.

"Shut _up_!" she demanded. "I'm getting better at it! It's not like my guns… had no problems with those, but you can't launch planes with them."

" _I dunno – I've launched a few Abyssal planes into orbit using mine._ "

Shinano snorted. "Ha, ha. You know what I mean."

" _Do I?_ "

" _Anyway_ ," she interrupted, pointedly ignoring the smirking Iowa, "that's it. That's all the training I've had so far."

" _I didn't set this call up just to ask you about your training._ "

"You… didn't?"

" _God, no. I wanna know how you're doing. Meet anyone, make any new friends? They were pretty nice to me, even knowing that I fought against Japan in the war. Of course, being friends with Yamato probably helped that a lot._ "

Come to think of it, why _hadn't_ she heard about more shipgirls bearing grudges as a result of the war? Every one of them remembered, had their own deeply-entrenched scars… and yet, all of the shipgirls she'd met behaved as if they had moved on. Hell, even Bismarck seemed to have no issues working with U.S. forces.

Months ago, at Saratoga Springs, she had read a report about a U.S. shipgirl at another base refusing to work with a Japanese yeoman… but that was the only instance Shinano could recall of any grudges being acted upon.

And Akagi… flagship of the _Kido Butai…_ for her position, and everything she had been through, the carrier wasn't the exacting taskmaster Shinano had dreaded meeting. Instead, Akagi was a genial, personable shipgirl, willing to treat her as a peer.

Much like her own big sister, in fact.

"I did… uh, go out with Shoukaku and Zuikaku last night," she admitted, warily.

Iowa's eyebrows raised. " _Oh? Do tell._ "

* * *

"Oh, my," Shoukaku breathed, as she stood toe-to-toe with Shinano.

"Shoukaku-nee, this is Shinano. Yamato's sister," Zuikaku said, by way of introduction. "Shinano, this is my sister, Shoukaku."

Shinano bowed. "Pleased to meet you, Shoukaku-san."

"No, the pleasure is ours," the slate-haired carrier returned the bow.

"We thought that we would take you out, as our way of saying welcome, to our base, and fleet. You know, go shopping, sightseeing, whatever you want. Even…" A sheepish look formed on Zuikaku's face. "…going to a restaurant."

Neither she nor Shinano missed Shoukaku's shudder at the mention of going out to eat.

Shinano assumed it was a natural reaction to the idea of treating a _Yamato_ -class shipgirl to dinner, much as she was loath to admit it. Nagato had behaved as though her revelation regarding the _Yamato_ sisters was common knowledge.

But then, _any_ shipgirl was certainly capable of depleting a restaurant's entire stock in a single setting. Why every restaurant, cafe and food stand in the world hadn't outright barred all shipgirls as customers, she could only guess.

"Shoukaku-nee? Something wrong?"

Shoukaku collected herself. "Ah… no. I was recalling the last time we went out to eat. You disappeared, and I couldn't find you! I was so worried!"

Clasping a hand to her chest, Shoukaku mimed looking in every direction. "Zuikaku? Zuikaku, where are you?"

She spun to one side, extending her hands before her as though offering 'herself' something. "Miss, the bill for your meals…?" she asked, voice an octave lower.

Shoukaku returned to her original position. Dejectedly, she slumped to her knees, uttering a pitiable "Auuu…"

"It… It wasn't like that at all!" Zuikaku protested, at the half-lidded glare Shinano shot her.

"Really."

"Yes! I got a call ordering me back to base, and–"

Shoukaku's head drooped further, the air of utter depression enveloping her somehow doubling in intensity.

Her sister began waving her hands frantically. "Okay, okay! I'll – I'll pay for everything tonight, okay? In-including dinner!"

Shoukaku brought her head up to stare at Zuikaku ever so slowly. "You will?"

"Yes!"

"Okay," beamed Shoukaku, bouncing to her feet. "My, we'd better get going, Shinano. I'm sure we'll be having a lot of fun this evening."

Zuikaku hung her head in defeat, groaning.

* * *

"…so, yeah, they showed me around the area, took me to a bunch of stores, and to an American diner."

Iowa blinked. " _And Zuikaku paid for all that?_ "

"Yeah. I felt guilty and offered to help pay, but she was being stubborn, and wouldn't let me."

" _So, what do you think? Think they'll be good friends? I wasn't there long enough to meet that many people. I think the only carrier I really had a chance to meet was Akagi, and that was because she was in the mess hall that one time._ "

Shinano couldn't resist a smirk. The rumors claimed Akagi spent all her free time in the mess. She knew better, but it was easy to see how someone might leap to that conclusion.

"We'll see," she replied, noncommittally. "I still have the rest of the Fleet to meet, much less the rest of the carriers. Us carriers have to stick together and all that, I'm sure."

" _Yeah, well, by the time you come home, you're gonna be the most powerful carrier in the world, able to shred any Abyssal fleets you encounter, right?_ "

Shinano's breath caught. "…No. That's a battleship's job."

* * *

Author's notes: So as of July 8, _The Great Shipgirl Swap_ is officially now one year old. With one year and over 23,000 views from around the world behind it, I'd like to thank you for continuing to read my bizarre little story. ^_^

I had originally planned to have an omake here, but ran out of time. I'll consider adding it to a later chapter.

Special thanks: J. St. C. Patrick


	16. What Happens in Yokosuka

I don't know if I've ever said it… but I love being 'Big Sister Yamato.'

Sure, okay, part of that _is_ probably due to the fact that – as Haruka – I don't have any sisters or brothers.

Beyond that… I know I've mentioned the feeling of utter _rightness_ I feel when I'm with my sisters. Protecting and defending them. Doing whatever I can to help them.

 _Together_. We shipgirls hold our sisters in high regard. When we're not finding fault with what they say and cleaning up the messes they've left behind, anyway.

Musashi still won't tell me whether or not she and Misa did have anything to do with damaging that one bar's giant stuffed moose head.

I cast a slow glance across the four of us, seated in the back of an APC, and smiled. There was Musashi, regaling Shinano with stories of her 'adventures' – this turn, something she'd apparently experienced during one of her bar-hopping nights. Even I hadn't heard this story; none of it was in any report – and making constant efforts to drag her not-quite twin sister into telling the story as well.

Surprisingly, Misa didn't need much prodding.

She's been trying to act more like her former self, going so far as to stop wearing her customary T-shirt in favor of having nothing but a sports bra underneath her uniform vest, as Musashi herself wore only a sarashi.

Shipgirl uniforms… are a mystery. The uniforms we wear upon summoning or Awakening are _not_ what we wore as ship-spirits, according to those who have been surveyed. We didn't choose them, they're often only consistent among classes of sister-ships – although overall, our country's shipgirl uniforms have a tendency toward resembling school uniforms, for some reason, while other countries' shipgirl uniforms tend toward the basic naval 'sailor suit' uniform – and by now, most navies have abandoned all hope of convincing shipgirls with more… _revealing_ uniforms to change.

That's if there _is_ some way to change our default uniforms, anyway, which are part of our armor. I mean, we're all technically naval officers, right? Navies usually have standard uniforms…

…Um. Oops, sorry. I'm getting a little sidetracked.

This outing is a present from me to my sisters. Misa had finished her adjustment period, with Musashi following four days later. And our younger sister? Akagi's informed me that Shinano is progressing quite well with her training.

So, I arranged for the four of us to have the day off, and head into the city – with a driver and two minders, of course… and the express condition that Musashi and Misa weren't allowed to visit any bars, or drink anything stronger than a few beers.

First on the itinerary, a movie. It may turn out to be a bad idea, but I've decided to let my sisters pick the movie when we get to the theater. Hopefully, whatever they choose will have nothing to do with war… or Naka.

Shinano had been quick to suggest the _Star Wars_ movies, before we set out, but was overruled by Misa and Musashi.

Second, lunch, at a restaurant of their choice… within reason. Nagato and I cornered Musashi and Misa ahead of time, and had them promise to wear uniform-like shirts we'd provide underneath their vests for the restaurant.

Finally, my sisters will be deciding what we'll do for the remainder of the afternoon.

"Yamato?" Musashi raised her voice, interrupting my thoughts. "You're…" She made a face, as if she'd sampled something slightly sour. "…'responsible,' right? So why don't they let you drive?"

I reclined in my seat. "I'm a little too big to safely fit behind the wheel of most vehicles," I admitted, "and to be honest, I have no real need to drive anywhere, most of the time." If I do have to leave the compound, it's easier just to request a driver.

Don't get me wrong; I'd been preparing to learn how to drive when I Awakened. But as I didn't turn sixteen until June, I had to wait for this semester to take Drivers' Ed.

"Is there a reason you would prefer me to drive, Musashi?" I asked, offering her a knowing smile. "Perhaps you believe I would be a better choice to ferry you to and from your nights of bar-hopping, hm?" Or that I'd be more lenient than the minders or MPs…

The Admiral would _never_ allow it, at any rate.

Musashi snorted. "No. It's just that I, Musashi, want a little more freedom. What if I want to go look at some games? Buying everything online is _boring_."

"They'd still make us take minders, so it won't matter who's driving," Misa reminded her, shooting a mildly annoyed glance toward the cab, where our minders sat.

"Yes." I sighed. "And you know that all you have to do, if you want to go into the city, is request a driver. No matter whether you want me to go with you, or not." It wasn't as though every bar in the city was within walking distance of the base.

Shinano, I'd noticed, had switched to quietly watching the traffic and scenery through the open rear window of the APC as soon as Musashi was no longer paying attention to her.

I stood, and moved to sit next to her. "Shinano? Is something the matter?"

"Umm…" A thin, unsure smile formed on her lips. "I was just wondering… if I'll still be here when my adjustment period ends."

That's right – the better she does in training, the sooner she'll be heading back to San Diego. I tried not to let the sadness I felt at that realization show. "Well, if that turns out to be the case, we will just have to arrange more parties for you, to make up for it," I declared.

Her eyes went wide. "What? But…" She closed her eyes, and took a moment to collect herself. "Never mind. Why throw a party just because we've made it through the 'adjustment period?'"

"Are you kidding?" exclaimed Misa. "Tell me you wouldn't celebrate, if yours ended right here and now. It's not fun spending weeks being afraid to sit on anything." Beside her, Musashi nodded.

"There is an additional benefit, of which few seem to be aware. When our period of adjustment ends, we can shift between our human weight and our full original displacement at will."

All three of my sisters spun to look at me as one. " _What!?_ "

"Really?"

"Yes. But please, do not experiment with it here. We should not risk breaking the APC."

"It's not like there _are_ that many places you can experiment with being a 70,000-ton shipgirl," Shinano muttered.

She has a point. "There are the scales at the docks on-base," I hesitantly suggested.

"Well, that's _one_ place."

The APC's intercom crackled. " _We've arrived at the theater's parking lot. I hope you're all seated and secured back there._ "

"That's another reason you should be driving your own car, Yamato." Musashi grumbled. "It takes _forever_ to find a place to park these things."

* * *

The irate submarine braced herself, planting her sandal-clad foot in the middle of the office door, forcing it open with an explosive _bang_. " _ **ADMIRAL!**_ "

Nagato surveyed the sub-girl. "Lieutenant Matsubara wishes to speak with you, sir," she said, without blinking or otherwise missing a beat.

Admiral Goto met the submarine's gaze, resting the palms of his hands upon his desk as though preparing to push himself to his feet. "Lieutenant – and that rank is subject to change – you do understand there are proper procedures for requesting an audience with me?"

He took some small satisfaction in the way she faltered, if only briefly.

"Sorry, sir," she curtly apologized. "But can't something be _done_ about Iku!?"

Goto sighed. "What has she done this time?"

"She filled my room with _fish_! While I was sleeping! I had to spend time washing the smell out of my uniform before I came here!"

Okay, that was new. The lieutenant _had_ to be a heavy sleeper – surely the smell of a room loaded with fish would have woken most people well in advance of their alarm clocks. "Do you have proof that Iku is responsible for doing that?"

Annoyance flashed through her red eyes. "Fine. _Someone_ filled my room with fish, while I was sleeping. Now, can we _please_ do something about that person?"

"Or people? This could be the work of more than one person. One or more people seeking payback for something they believe you or Iku did."

"…or people," she echoed, sounding less sure the more she considered everything.

"Lieutenant, I'm aware your first inclination is to blame Iku for anything bad that happens, and in most cases, she may well _be_ responsible for it… but I'm sure you understand that we must conduct an investigation to be sure. You can't move the amount of fish it takes to blanket someone's quarters in the submarine barracks without leaving a trail – no pun intended."

He pointedly ignored the dubious stare she gave him, choosing instead to study her. "You know," Goto remarked at last, "for someone who hates it when Iku masquerades as you, you do make it easy for her to do so."

"…Sir?"

"The only things you do to differentiate yourself from her, aside from adding the '-ni' to your swimsuit's nametag, are wearing your hair down, and a hoodie. All of which, she can easily copy."

She frowned. "Then what would you suggest, sir?"

"Make changes she _can't_ easily match. Have you thought about having your hair cut differently? Shorter, maybe."

"I'll… I'll think about it."

* * *

Surprisingly, it was only close to sixteen-hundred hours when the four of us returned to the APC.

I was disappointed that Shinano hadn't wanted to do any sightseeing. Nor had anyone else. It would have given our minders a break, too. Easier to keep everyone away from their charges all day, when the shipgirls _didn't_ insist upon visiting areas tightly-packed with people.

So, after having lunch, we spent the rest of the afternoon shopping. Each of us has at least four bags stowed away.

I waited until everyone else had boarded the APC to start walking up the ramp… but when I reached the halfway point, Shinano re-emerged from the rear gate and rushed to place herself in my path.

"Yamato-oneesama?" She withdrew one of the Blu-Ray box sets she'd bought this afternoon from storage, pushing it into my hands. "I got this for you."

I turned the box about. " _Star Wars: The Complete Saga_?"

"Uh, yeah. You'll only want to watch Episodes Four through Six, though. Nobody had the set with those three movies alone."

Handing the box set to a member of my crew to add to my shopping bags, I inclined my head. "Thank you. I will try to watch them, if I can set aside the free time needed to do so."

 _Please_ don't call me out on that lie. I never really had any interest in the _Star Wars_ movies, and doubt a box set is going to change my mind.

After Shinano and I took our seats aboard the APC, the ramp was automatically retracted, and the truck came to life with something of a tortured grumble.

Our drivers always chose to take the same long route to and from the city – the winding road around the outskirts of the city, that followed the coastline. I settled in, half-listening to Musashi try to cajole Misa and Shinano into revealing their favorite video games… which, over the span of somewhere between five to ten minutes, became an argument after the latter two made the mistake of panning Musashi's favorite game.

As far as I can tell, Musashi _loves_ a good argument.

I tried to look away and appear uninterested, tune out the free-for-all that was quickly building steam.

"What? _Final Fantasy_? Are you insane?"

At worst, I can always break the argument up. I'm sure everyone up front is wondering why I haven't already done that. But… this is the most open and animated I've ever seen Shinano be.

"They're _all_ like that. Every year, the same game, with very few things changed. And it doesn't matter, 'cause _people keep buying them_."

I was never this crazy about video games… was I?

"You kidding? All they make is stuff with zombies in it."

After a minute or two, Musashi shot to her feet. "Don't you dare tell me the _Touhou_ games aren't for experts! If you bothered to play them, you–"

An explosion detonated ahead, causing the APC to sway violently. Musashi stumbled, careening into the wall behind her seat.

My first instinct was to increase my displacement to keep the APC from tumbling in any direction – until I realized that Shinano was unknowingly providing a counterweight, to an extent.

The intercom activated. " _We've got Abyssals! They just tore a large chunk out of the road. We can't go any further._ "

"Everyone outside, _now_!" I ordered. As much as I didn't believe I was at all suited to command, I had no choice but to take charge.

I dove through the APC's open rear gate and was immediately greeted with a torrential stream of Abyssal shells. Either the Abyssals knew the APC was carrying shipgirls, or had a reasonable guess.

Positioned a few kilometers into the ocean, a Wo-class carrier was giving me a cold, impassive stare, while four unusual heavy cruisers swarmed around her, firing wildly upon any targets in our area they thought to be interesting.

Which, most of the time, happened to be me. There were still some homes and other buildings nearby, however, so me drawing their fire was a good thing.

I reached the edge of the cliff a moment later, my sisters following closely behind. "We are too far up to make it to the ocean safely," I told them, eyeing the drop-off. "And the incline is too steep for us to descend. We will have to take our position here."

The four of us summoned our rigging, Musashi, Misa and Shinano taking their cues from me.

"Musashi, Misa, fan out and choose your targets. Shinano, stay behind us." I craned my head to peer around my guns at my little sister. "If you feel you are ready for actual combat, I want you to launch a scout plane far to each side, and have them loop back around behind those Abyssals. Hopefully, they don't have any surprises hidden out there."

"We may also need you and your pilots' help in dealing with anything that Wo-class throws at us," I concluded, after a moment's deliberation. My AA was supposed to be markedly improved – though with proper air support, we run far less risk of enemy planes entering our airspace.

That thought triggered a shudder. _Never again…_

Shinano nodded. "G-got it," she said, taking a couple of large steps back and readying her bow.

I tapped two fingers to my earlobe. " _Nagato…? Nagato, are you receiving me?_ "

"… _Yamato? What is going on?_ "

" _Track our location. We are under attack by Abyssals, and the road ahead has been destroyed._

 _The Abyssal force consists of a single Wo-class carrier, with four heavy cruisers I cannot identify running interference. They may be a new class. I currently have Shinano's scouts checking for any sign of reinforcements._ "

Nagato fell silent for a few minutes, allowing me to devote my full concentration to my assault.

" _Yamato, it will take some time to get anyone to your location over the ocean or by land, especially if the road is out,_ " she stated on her return. " _I'll see if we can get a helicopter and group willing to be airlifted there._ "

" _Very well. We will do our best to hold this position and defeat those Abyssals,_ " I assured her, closing the channel – and immediately, swung my 12.7cm turrets about to blindside the lone Abyssal fighter attempting to sneak up on me by approaching far to the left and slightly behind me. I'd been tracking it on radar even before it peeled away from its fellow planes, preoccupied as they were with my sister's Reppuus.

Hmm. I frowned, examining my 12.7s. They work well, yet run through ammo somewhat faster than I'd like. Grabbing another three shells from my clips, I slammed them home.

Between them, Misa and Musashi caught one of the cruisers in a crossfire, peppering the Abyssal with a non-stop barrage of shells until she sank. Previously, Musashi had managed to sink one of the cruisers while I'd been speaking with Nagato.

The Abyssal carrier, meanwhile, was _still_ launching planes. Shinano's pilots fought valiantly, but she had lost a handful of Reppuus and was launching Ryuseis to compensate. Her crew were trying to scrounge the material to build more planes, from the sound of the hungry grumbles I could hear emerging from Shinano's stomach.

Unlike her escorts, the Wo-class was smart enough – or maybe not as daring – to stay _just_ out of the range of our guns. If we'd been on the water, that wouldn't be much of an issue. Instead, we're landlocked, positioned on a higher-elevation strip of land and unable to move closer.

I didn't want my sisters to see my frustration growing. Not if I'm supposed to be in charge. To cover, I tracked cruiser number three, unloading my main turrets into her as she turned to face me for another strafing run.

The Abyssal was torn asunder, flung backward several meters into the water, and did not rise.

"Yeah!" Musashi crowed, swiveling her turrets toward the final cruiser, while I was forced to stop to reload. "Only one left. She's _mine_."

Then, as if she'd heard Musashi's claim, the cruiser bellowed an inarticulate scream of pure rage, charging in Musashi's direction and loosing every scrap of firepower available to her. A couple of the rounds impacted against Musashi's gut, but she merely grunted and bore it.

Waiting.

The demon cruiser had a startlingly larger and more destructive array of firepower to call upon than her ship class would suggest. Abyssals often did.

Most Abyssals, however, had more sense than to make a wild, unfocused charge against a battleship, essentially presenting themselves as an easy target.

Indeed, Musashi held her fire for what I assumed was the most humiliating moment, taking precise aim and firing a tight burst for the cruiser to steam into, face-first.

I winced as the Abyssal's head and shoulders were atomized into a fine, black mist, the remainder promptly buckling at the waist and tumbling forward into the ocean.

A few scattered cheers rose from further up the hill, where the police were trying to keep a crowd restrained behind an impromptu barricade.

"Well," said Misa, optics panning to the lone Wo-class, who was now simply standing there, watching us. "Anybody got any torpedoes?"

"I'm just wondering if she's gonna launch anymore planes at us." Shinano was understandably wary; what remained of her Ryuseis and Reppuus were executing holding patterns above us, though each of them would need to return home sometime soon, to rearm and refuel. If the Abyssal still had fresh planes ready to go…

"She's out there laughing at us, isn't she."

I ignored Musashi's rant for the moment. We can't let that Wo-class escape, if we can help it. She'll most likely return with a larger entourage, after however long it takes Abyssal carriers to regenerate their planes, and terrorize the city.

We need to make it to the beach, for starters. Except finding a path down and taking it will waste time, and run the risk of removing the Wo-class from our sight.

"YAA–– _ **HOOO**_ _!_ "

 _What!?_

Dismissing my rigging, I edged closer to the incline. Below, a shipgirl wearing a uniform consisting of a modified haori, green-and-blue plaid skirt and black thigh-highs landed atop the water from a flying leap, materialized the rigging of a fast battleship around her and darted after the Abyssal carrier.

 _One of Kongou's sisters?_ The shipgirl hadn't been Kongou, Kirishima or Haruna, however – her light brown hair was short and feathered. That left only one possibility…

"Could that be… Hiei?" I wondered, aloud, just as the fast battleship came within range of the Abyssal, assaulting the demon carrier with every available gun.

"Hiei? But she hasn't been summoned yet." Musashi frowned. "Don't tell me the Admiral held a ceremony while we were out."

"Whoever she is," I decided, "we are _not_ going to leave her to fight alone. Come on; let's find a way down there."

* * *

Of course, by the time we bypassed the ruined section of road and found a path leading down, hopping over the wave-breakers along the way, 'Hiei' had managed to sink the Wo-class and was on her way back to shore.

She stepped from the water's surface onto the beach and dismissed her rigging, her eyes immediately settling upon me. "Yamato-sama?" she blurted, surprised. "I had no idea when I heard the cannonfire from up there, that it was you."

I nodded. "Thank you for your help. Might I ask who you are?"

"Oh, yeah. Haven't introduced myself yet, right. I'm Daiyakuji Hiyori, but you probably recognize me as the Awakened version of the battleship, _Hiei_."

"Pleased to meet you, Daiyakuji-san." The four of us offered her a bow. "These are my sisters, Musashi, Misa, and Shinano."

"Pleased to meet you," replied Hiyori. "Umm, you can call me 'Hiyori,' if you want. Or maybe you should go ahead and call me 'Hiei.' Unless Hiei-sama is…?"

"She hasn't been summoned, to my knowledge… Hiei," I informed her.

The newly-dubbed Hiei grinned. "Okay. Well, I was on my way to the base – walking – when I heard the fighting and saw the Abyssals out there. Wasn't sure if I should get involved, but then I saw the last one kept staying out of your range, so…"

"That was a reckless and risky move. You had no knowledge of that Abyssal's armament, _or_ if she had any planes capable of launching."

"Eh. As a battleship, and a miko, it's my duty to dispatch any demons I encounter."

Musashi gave her a dubious, half-lidded stare. "You're a miko?"

"Um…" Hiei blushed. "I'm… yeah. In training. My father runs the Daiyakuji Shrine in the city. You might've heard of it?"

She glanced between each of us in turn, hope shining in her eyes. "…No?"

"I, Yamato, am sure it's a very nice shrine," I offered. Why does it always fall to me to be the diplomat?

Yes, that was a rhetorical question.

"We should be returning to the base. Hiei, I doubt there will be any problems with your enlistment, so let me be the first to welcome you to our fleet. Would you like me to call ahead and let your sisters know you are on your way?"

Hiei's eyebrows raised. "My sisters?"

Again, I nodded. "Kongou, Kirishima, and Haruna. Together, the four of you are the _Kongou_ sisters."

"Oooh," said Hiei, brightening. "A reunion! Sounds like an opportunity for me to test that curry recipe I've been meaning to try!"

* * *

Yamato _Sisters Rout Abyssal Attack On Their Day Off_

Admiral Treston chuckled on noticing the article, and the obviously-doctored photo accompanying it – no newspaper photographer or paparazzi was _ever_ going to successfully capture an Abyssal on film – headlining his newspaper's International section.

The picture was a telephoto shot of Yamato, the Musashi twins and Shinano, in full rigging, staring at what were no doubt digitally-inserted indistinct black blobs. Abyssals were normally 'invisible' to all attempts to capture their image. Period.

Yamato and her sisters were merely performing their duty. But the Japanese news media, eager to shine a spotlight on Yamato, had quickly turned the story into a national headline, both for newspapers and TV news reports – and from there, the rest of the world naturally interpreted it as a major news story.

Really, what shipgirl was going to _ignore_ an Abyssal attack, provided she was undamaged and perfectly capable of doing something about the demons?

"Sir? Iowa and Bismarck are here."

"Send them in."

Iowa, he'd noted, was always wary and guarded when she visited the office. Almost… angry, as if he'd personally affronted her, somehow.

He probably had. The nature of command was such that everyone on-base would never be one hundred percent satisfied with his decisions at any point in time.

Oh, well – so long as she continued to perform her duty, prove her worth as a battleship, and didn't let her disagreement cause her to become insubordinate, what past decision of his that may be bothering her was of no real concern.

"You wished to see us, sir?" inquired Bismarck, and for a moment he marveled at how much she had changed since the day she stood in this office, requesting that she be allowed to enlist.

He passed the newspaper section to Iowa, who quickly scanned the article. "Huh. Shino's made the news," she remarked, handing the newspaper to Bismarck.

"Yes, but that isn't why I sent for you," the Admiral declared.

Both shipgirls' posture shifted slightly more at attention. "Sir?"

"I have spent quite some time in deliberation on this matter – and I assure you, this is not a decision I make lightly. Battleship Iowa… Lieutenant Hawke?"

Iowa snapped to full attention, body ramrod-straight.

"As of this moment, you are now the acting commander of the Fleet, answering directly to me. Your performance from this point forward will determine if it is to become a permanent role, and a possible promotion."

She opened and closed her mouth once, twice, struggling to find her voice. "…Me, sir?"

The man's brief smile told her he was amused by her reaction. "Yes."

"I'll… I'll do my best, sir. May I choose Bismarck as my second?"

"You can – and this is not meant as a slight against you, Bismarck – but I would ask that you carefully consider your candidates for second-in-command, first."

Pause. "Yes, sir."

The Admiral pulled his large wheeled office chair closer to his desk. "Good, good. Now, Iowa… are you ready for your first test of command?"

She blinked. "Test?"

"Are you familiar with Lieutenant Petrischeva?"

Iowa was quiet for several seconds. "That Russian lieutenant? Never met her. We've passed a couple times in the halls, but that's it. I think she likes keeping to herself."

"An assessment I would tend to agree with," he said, nodding, "based on my own interaction with her. Perhaps you'll be able to do something about that."

"Do you mean…" Iowa paled.

He pressed two of the buttons on his dated office intercom. "Send Lieutenant Petrischeva in."

The young woman that strode intently into the office was clearly a battleship shipgirl, wearing a long white topcoat over an orange button-up shirt and black uniform skirt, with black stockings. A white peaked hat rested atop her head, long gray hair spilling out from it in every direction.

"Iowa, Bismarck… may I introduce the recently-Awakened battleship, Gangut. She'll be under your command from now on."

Gangut turned an icy look of disapproval upon Iowa, sienna eyes boring holes into her would-be commander. "You want I should follow orders from one who dress like tramp?" she directed to the Admiral, in thickly-accented English.

* * *

Special thanks: J. St. C. Patrick


	17. Deviations in Course

"You want I should follow orders from one who dress like tramp?" Gangut directed to the Admiral, in thickly-accented English.

 _A test,_ Bismarck recalled. _He said this was a 'test.'_ Yet she couldn't resist flicking her gaze first to Iowa, to gauge her fellow battleship's reaction… then to Gangut, and the Admiral in turn.

There was no reaction from any of them.

Wait. Iowa had never hesitated to tell her her expression – hell, the way Bismarck carried herself – often gave away precisely what the German shipgirl was thinking. She wasn't doing that _now_ , was she?

Iowa smirked, scoffing. "You'll have to do better than that," she informed the Russian. "Believe me, I've heard far worse, all since they ran that footage of us on the evening news." Peripherally, she glanced in the Admiral's direction. "They're on… what, the second petition trying to force me to change my uniform? Third?"

"Lieutenant," she continued, before Gangut could do little more than snort. "I would hope that, as an Awakened shipgirl yourself, you have realized by now that A – no shipgirl chooses the uniform she's wearing when summoned or Awakened, and B – these uniforms are part of our armor, making them difficult to change without giving up a fair portion of our protection." Iowa's gaze strayed to Bismarck momentarily, causing the German battleship to fidget slightly in her service khakis.

"Hmph. Likely story, commander tramp. Most shipgirls wear actual uniform, not… _that_."

To her credit, Iowa didn't rise to the obvious bait. "Thirty minutes," she stated.

Gangut blinked, puzzled by the non-sequitur. "What?"

"Meet us at the shipgirl training range in thirty minutes," clarified Iowa, her voice remaining thoroughly emotionless. Nagato had been an excellent teacher, after all. "We need to evaluate your combat capabilities and readiness."

Rather than wait for Gangut's response, she turned and began walking toward the small office's door. "Permission to leave, Admiral? Bismarck and I have some… _preparations_ we must attend to."

"Granted."

Gangut stared at the Admiral, wondering if she _had_ just seen a ghost of a smile cross the Old Man's lips. What _had_ Iowa meant, by 'preparations?' The shamefully-dressed battleship was taking advantage of her new position and power to justify revenge and torture, wasn't she?

And why was the Old Man letting her get away with it?

In the main office, Bismarck warily stepped through the exit, fully expecting Iowa to be waiting for her just outside the door, to grumble about Gangut's attempts at insulting her.

"Hey." Yeah, there she was. Ready, as always, to launch into a gripe…

"You got your phone on you? Mine's charging."

"Huh?" asked Bismarck. "Oh, er… yeah." She fished for her phone. Being on-call meant she and Iowa were often away from their quarters for long periods of time, with nothing to preoccupy them save for their smartphones… and it was a well-known fact that phone batteries only held a charge if one didn't actually want to _do_ anything with the phone.

"Okay, call up the Wikipedia article on the _Gangut_ , and any other information you can find," Iowa instructed, in all seriousness. "I want to know everything I can about her."

* * *

Kongou nervously examined the bowl of curry her sister had set before her.

Thankfully, the curry did not return the favor.

The dish _looked_ normal. Smelled normal, too. So why were her senses _and_ crew screaming at her to back away from the curry, run far and fast?

Hiei stood beside her, sheer unadulterated hope shining in the younger battleship's eyes. That had been a welcome surprise – Yamato and her sisters returning from their day-off fun in the city, as well as an unexpected Abyssal attack, with an Awakened Hiei in tow.

Kongou, Haruna and Kirishima had been overjoyed at the reunion, and the three spent most of the evening reacquainting themselves with their sister, while helping Hiei settle in.

Apparently, Hiei loved to cook, and couldn't wait to see what her sisters thought of her efforts.

When Hiei raided the base's stores the following morning for ingredients and a pan or two, no one considered the act to be anything but innocent.

Kongou reluctantly reached for her spoon. She didn't even have the luxury of allowing someone else to try the curry before her, and gauging their reactions – Kirishima and Haruna, taking a cue from the _Yamato_ sisters, had requested the day off to head into the city, citing a need to 'blow off some stress,' in Kirishima's words… leaving her alone with Hiei.

 _If only Teitoku were here,_ she mused. The Admiral would have an ingenious plan to free the both of them from this predicament, without hurting Hiei's feelings. Hiei had poured a _lot_ of effort and time into her curry…

But… _Teitoku._ Just the thought of her Admiral sweeping her into his arms and spiriting her away caused her face to flush, and temperature to rise. "Oh, _teitoku…_!"

Internally, her damage-control faeries merely rolled their eyes, and aimed portable fans toward the affected areas.

Hiei cocked her head at an angle, confused. "…Teitoku?"

"Teitoku?" Kongou immediately perked, scanning the room. "Where..."

Her eyes found Hiei and the bowl of curry. Oh. Right. She cleared her throat. "Sorry. I was getting a little… carried away, _desu_."

Hiei raised an eyebrow. "You don't say," she snarked. "Please, won't you try the curry? If you like it, maybe we can even take some to the Admiral."

 _Aha,_ she thought, noticing that her sister's resolve was beginning to flag.

Kongou laughed, a soft, humorless laugh meant to help psych herself up. "Just one little bite, _desu_. What harm could one bite do?" So saying, she dipped her spoon into the curry with renewed determination, drawing a dollop from the bowl and quickly swallowing it… not about to give anyone or anything a chance to convince her she was making a _horrible_ mistake.

Hiei watched, her hope turning to shock as Kongou almost immediately clamped a hand to her mouth, cheeks puffing and turning several unexpected shades of pale or green, before bolting from her chair into the bathroom and slamming the door behind her.

The sounds of her elder sister purging her stomach, Hiei did her level best to ignore. Where had she gone wrong? She'd followed the recipe to the letter! Maybe one of the ingredients had gone bad…

 _That_ _ **has**_ _to be it,_ she decided. _I'm gonna try again, and_ _ **keep**_ _trying until I get it right! No recipe'll ever get the best of Daiyakuji – uh, battleship Hiei!_

"Teitokuuuu…" Kongou's wail filtered from the bathroom. "Scuttled by my own sister, in the prime of my life! Ohh…"

In response, Hiei turned a withering glare toward the door. "Stop being so melodramatic!" she snapped.

* * *

Gangut cautiously and wearily peered into the still waters of the repair pool.

Naval Base San Diego's repair pools had been converted, by necessity, from the base's generously-sized swimming pools.

Somehow. Nobody had told her the specifics, and she doubted she would be at all interested in the story.

The things _looked_ like normal swimming pools. No magical auras, nothing causing the tiny hairs on her arms to stand on end – hell, the water was clear, not mysteriously hazy or even a different color!

She was supposed to believe this water magically helped to repair moderately-damaged shipgirls?

How it felt to be in that state, or worse… Gangut hoped she never experienced _that_. Just being a shipgirl was strange enough.

A shipgirl who was currently covered with a liberal coating of training paint, with a few minor instances of hull damage. Stupid Bismarck…

Iowa's idea of an evaluation had been to pit her against Bismarck, the German playing the role of an Abyssal Re-class battleship.

Thankfully, she had a rough idea how a Re-class battleship behaved and fought, having watched Iowa and Bismarck contend with one of the Abyssal battleships during a sortie, from her position aboard the _Stockdale._

She scowled in disgust. Even an _Arleigh Burke_ -class guided-missile destroyer like the USS _Stockdale_ took a backseat to shipgirls, when fighting the Abyssals. Well, now that she herself had become a battleship shipgirl, she'd just have to trash the Abyssals that much more, for every ship in this war that couldn't fight as a shipgirl.

As soon as she could beat that damned Bismarck. Enough to prove to Her Majesty that she was ready for true combat, anyway.

Gathering her resolve, Gangut eased herself into the water, ignoring the nagging sense of awkwardness she felt over not having removed her uniform and changed into a swimsuit, beforehand.

Only then did she feel the magic begin to take effect, softly washing away the layers of training paint and mending her damaged hull. The effect was… relaxing. Much like a mineral bath, with natural water currents. _This is nice,_ she thought, reclining against the edge of the pool and closing her eyes.

* * *

"Umm… Miss… Nelson, was it? I mean, Nelson-san."

Cheryl glanced up from her effort to fit her Japanese textbook and workbook in the same backpack as the utterly massive Japanese-to-English dictionary her mother had rushed to buy online, after learning about Mr. Kinoshita's offer.

At least the man wasn't _actually_ requiring her to be fluent in Japanese… not yet. He'd set up an agreement with the community college – if she attended the Japanese courses three nights a week, and continued to show drive and commitment to learn the language, he would train her in everything she needed to know in working as his aide.

"Yes?" she asked, studying the three older members of the class standing beside her desk. Two women, and a man.

She had neglected to memorize the names of any of her classmates, under the belief – or was that hope? – that she'd never have to talk to any of them.

Never mind that Shomita-sensei reiterated practically every meeting how she wanted everyone to speak in Japanese as much as possible while class was in session.

The woman wearing a pair of opaque, wide-rimmed glasses, the same shade of brown as her shoulder-length hair, took a step forward. "Once a week, a group of us get together after class to meet at the Yamashiro to eat, and work on our Japanese. We were wondering if you'd like to join us."

"The Yamashiro?" Cheryl stared at them in disbelief. "Isn't that place expensive?" Oh, she could probably afford it… she'd just have to go without gas for her car for a few weeks.

A snort drew her attention to the man. "Nah. As long as you don't go nuts and order anything expensive, you'll be fine. You can get by on appetizers; some of us do that."

"And no alcohol?"

"You're under twenty-one."

She stood, hefting her backpack and easing her arms into the straps. "Okay, then, so why ask me?" Shomita-sensei had oh-so-helpfully introduced her to the entire class as a high-school student. Wouldn't it be reasonable to guess, then, that she had little money to spare?

"We ask everyone." The man, whose short, wiry dirty-blond hair framed his face, ending in a scraggly beard, replied. "We're never going to get everyone to go as a group, but that's okay. It's still a way to get to meet everybody, and a chance to practice speaking Japanese with someone else, since you rarely get to do that outside class."

Cheryl stopped short. "…I guess that makes sense."

"Would you like to go with us this evening, then?"

She frowned. "Can you promise me you won't let me spend all my money? I need some of it for gas." Most, or all of it. But that was obvious.

"Like I said," the man repeated, "you can get by with appetizers, if you want. In fact, I'll buy."

"What? No, I–"

"I insist. The more money you have for gas, right?"

Embarrassed, Cheryl fell in behind the trio. "I guess…"

"Good." A chuckle. "So, if you don't mind me asking, why do you want to learn Japanese?"

"Uh… A friend of mine had to move back to Japan, and I want to be able to go visit her."

"Must be a really good friend, if you're willing to go to the trouble of learning Japanese and visiting her in Japan."

"Yeah," admitted Cheryl, feeling her blush deepen. _You don't know the half of it._ "She's a bit of a shipgirl maniac, though." Not to mention _being_ an actual shipgirl. Japan's most famous shipgirl, if one neglected to count Naka.

"My condolences."

* * *

 _Your time has almost run out._

Eugen shook her head. Her contact's inadvertent bluntness had almost served to distract her from the one notification she'd anticipated with dread since arriving at Naval Base San Diego.

Almost.

Yes, she was selfish. They had given her a short period of time to try convincing her 'big sister' Bismarck was needed in Germany more than the United States.

And so, she had been flown across the Atlantic in a cargo plane, to the naval base where Bismarck was stationed.

She attempted, once each day, to convince Bismarck to return with her to Germany. Firmly believed that they were both very much needed in their homeland, that her big sister's presence would make a difference, just as she had told Iowa.

The selfish part of her wanted to remain with her big sister, no matter where in the world Bismarck chose to be, or which fleet she joined.

In that sense, she was jealous of her reincarnate – there was no way Bismarck would want to leave, and her future self didn't have a pressing need to travel to a different country.

Another tweedle. _They insist you must return as soon as possible._

 _But I don't know if I've gotten anywhere in convincing her to go,_ Eugen replied.

There was a long pause. _Allow me to speak with her._

 _How?_

 _You have said that Iowa maintains a Skype connection in her room set to automatically answer calls. They have installed Skype on a computer for me. All I will need is Iowa's contact information, and your confirmation that she is present._

 _Are you sure this is a good idea?_

 _No. But I believe it must be done. We no longer have time to dance around the issue._

* * *

Eugen was grateful for the relative tranquility of the battleship barracks as she crossed the gap between her room's door and Iowa's; as the only two battleships in the San Diego Fleet, big sister Bismarck and Iowa had had the entire barracks building all to themselves.

That Russian battleship – Gangrene? Whatever… the gray-haired girl was insolent, dismissive of the two battleships who had joined the Fleet before her – and now, in Iowa's case, held authority over her – wasting no time in placing herself firmly on Eugen's bad side.

Gangrene was moving into the room to the left of Iowa's. Eugen chortled at the thought, wondering how long it would take the Russian to complain about the noise from the giant speakers Iowa had lined against the wall both rooms shared.

She raised a hand to knock on Iowa's door… and hesitated. _They're… they're probably not here._ Iowa was taking her new role as Fleet commander seriously, always finding something that required her attention. And big sister Bismarck – who would be _perfect_ for second-in-command, favoritism be damned – at her side, ready to help.

The pair could be anywhere on-base. _But I've gotta start somewhere,_ Eugen told herself, deciding to forgo knocking on the door in favor of using the door chime. She doubted her contact would appreciate waiting for her to scour the base for two errant battleships and tow them back to the barracks.

Iowa swung the door open not a moment later, Eugen noting the slight hint of weariness that influenced the battleship's every move. How much of Iowa's new workload was self-inflicted?

"Oh," Iowa uttered in recognition. "C'mon in. Bismarck's getting ready to set up a movie."

Eugen frowned at the automatic assumption she wanted to see her big sister first and foremost. Really, was she that predictable?

… _Never mind that!_ she mentally scolded, the screen of her smartphone coming to mind. _I can't keep her waiting._

Hurriedly, Eugen shouldered her way around Iowa, ignoring the battleship's startled yelp, and interposed herself between Bismarck and the TV. Iowa used her big-screen HDTV as both a computer monitor and TV, so letting Bismarck switch video feeds was out of the question.

"Eugen, what are you doing?" asked Bismarck, sounding every bit as tired as Iowa behaved.

"I'm sorry, big sister Bismarck. But there's someone who wants to talk to you."

Iowa's expression clouded. " _Tell_ me you're not handing out my contact information to people I don't know."

The cruiser's only response was to draw her smartphone, waking it from sleep and tapping the on-screen _Send_ button. _Now._

Skype immediately claimed priority, popping up a full-screen call window – and in seconds, _Bismarck_ appeared within that window, critically surveying everything she could see within the camera's range.

 _That can't be Bismarck,_ amended Iowa. The German shipgirl on-screen could pass for Bismarck's twin, true – but there were differences. The double appeared just a little older, a bit more stern. Her facial features slightly and clearly more Teutonically defined than Bismarck's, somehow.

Their surprise caller's uniform was the same as Bismarck's, though a fairly lighter shade of gray, and sported some additional fruit salad prominently pinned just above her breastplate.

Bismarck positioned herself before the camera. "Hello, Tirpitz," she acknowledged, softly. "I've been expecting you."

 _Tirpitz!? Her sister?_

Tirpitz nodded. " _Guten tag, schwester Bismarck._ "

"She was summoned just as the preparations to send me here were wrapping up," revealed Eugen, as she and Iowa moved to join Bismarck in-frame. "She said that she was aware you were here, and that's why she chose to answer the call."

"Then why didn't you let me know she was here – in Germany?" Eugen winced at the strong sense of _deja vu_ her big sister's question triggered. "Did you think I'd be less likely to want to go, if I knew you already had a battleship available?" Bismarck paused. "No offense, Tirpitz."

Eugen sighed. "I'm afraid she can't speak English. I'll have to translate. And no, she asked me not to tell you about her, because she didn't want her presence to influence your decision."

"So what's changed?" Why were they willing to bring her sister to her attention _now_ , and not before?

"Well…" The cruiser's gaze dropped to her feet. "I'm gonna have to leave, soon, and…"

Iowa's lips formed a thin line. "It's the Abyssals, isn't it. They've decided to escalate."

"…Yeah. They've been conducting random hit-and-fade assaults all along the coasts. Police and civil defense forces have been mobilized to help, but they can only go so far."

"Wait, you're not letting them fight the Abyssals, are you?" Allowing the world's navies to continue to confront the Abyssals with normal ships was unavoidable, but the armored ships _did_ protect sailors better than riot gear and small arms.

"No. Not that they haven't tried."

While Eugen stopped to recap the discussion in German for Tirpitz' benefit, Iowa took the opportunity to regard her friend. Bismarck's attention remained fixed upon her sister, face surprisingly revealing nothing of her thoughts at the moment.

"You _knew_ she was out there?" whispered Iowa.

"Uh-huh. My being able to recognize Eugen when she showed up? That has something to do with it, too. I'll… explain everything later. In private."

"I'm aware the Abyssals are only going to keep ramping up their efforts unless they can be decisively routed and repelled, so I have to ask – will my being there make _that_ significant a difference?" Bismarck spoke up, unknowingly voicing the same question Iowa had asked the heavy cruiser days prior.

Eugen and Tirpitz exchanged glances. "I don't know," the younger shipgirl answered. "We'll be able to cover more territory, and add your power to our fleet's strength. But, overall? We need to start going on the offensive against the Abyssals soon, before things get worse. And the more ships we have when we do, the better."

Bismarck closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "If – and I repeat, _IF_ – I go, promise me I'll be able to leave whenever I want. Nobody will force me to stay there. I have responsibilities here."

"I think they'll agree to that. Let me check, though."

"And will they listen to me if I suggest alternatives? To having me stay there, I mean."

"Like having another country loan Germany shipgirl forces?" Iowa was quick to mention.

"…Yeah. What she said."

"I'm pretty sure they'll at least listen to you," Eugen offered, optimistically.

Bismarck turned to face Iowa with a weak and clearly forced attempt at a smile. "Commander, I think I'll need to arrange some leave. Looks like I may be spending some time in Germany."

* * *

Author's notes: Yes, there's an actual Yamashiro restaurant in Los Angeles. I'll admit I haven't been there, but I chose to use it for obvious reasons. :)

Special thanks: J. St. C. Patrick


	18. Any Old Port in a Storm

_I'm home,_ heavy cruiser Prinz Eugen told herself, as she paused at the top of her cargo plane's ramp, taking in the sights – as well as what few _scents_ she could detect – of the small airfield outside Naval Base Command Kiel.

She allowed the winds to toss her hair about, unconcerned that it might whip into her face at any point… as her anchors did a _great_ job at keeping the length of it held back.

The German city would always occupy a special place in her heart. She'd been laid down, constructed and launched at the shipyards in Kiel – and admittedly, that it was the naval base at Kiel sending out a call for ship-spirits, had led her to leap at the opportunity.

And with luck, maybe she'd be reunited with big sister Bismarck, on arrival.

Ha, wishful thinking, as Iowa would say.

Then, they'd discovered Bismarck's reincarnate in _California_ , of all places, defending a U.S. naval base alongside an American battleship. This Bismarck was something of a stickler for the rules, it seemed, insisting upon wearing a USN uniform while she served with the U.S. Navy. But when it came time to board her plane for Germany, Bismarck was once again dressed in her proper shipgirl uniform.

Well, who was she, to deny big sister Bismarck her quirks?

Eugen glanced toward the base of the ramp, and blinked in surprise. At some point during her musings, Tirpitz had casually approached and was standing just shy of the ramp, patiently watching.

She stifled a grin; the battleship was keeping one hand tucked around the long fall of pale blonde hair near her neck, hoping to prevent the winds from sending it flying everywhere. Score one point for shorter shipgirl hair.

"Where's big sister Bismarck?" Eugen asked, her boots clanking against the metal ramp as she descended.

Tirpitz' eyes widened ever-so-slightly. "She isn't with you?"

" _One_ non-adjusted shipgirl taxes these things as it is. Putting a battleship _and_ heavy cruiser together on the same flight? No way. That's why they had us take different planes."

She reached the end of the ramp, and placed herself face-to-face with Tirpitz as best she could. "Her plane left before mine did," Eugen insisted, confusion beginning to grow. "She should already be here. But you're saying you haven't seen her?"

"That's correct. Your plane is the only one that's arrived, the entire time I've been here."

The heavy cruiser fretted. "Maybe… maybe they had a delay. Or… some kind of problem." As much as she didn't want to consider such possibilities, the truth of the matter was that as a non-adjusted battleship shipgirl, Bismarck's displacement was naturally heavier than hers – and it was always a risk, transporting larger-displacement shipgirls across the oceans in a cargo plane.

"Now, now," scolded Tirpitz. She drew her phone. "We shouldn't assume the worst. I'll call Operations; maybe they can track her plane."

 _She's right._ Eugen forced herself to calm down. _Why am I worrying? Big sister will be here any minute now, and then…_

…well, they'd have to take Bismarck to see the Admiral, get her settled in, and probably have to sortie at some point very, very soon. But when they weren't doing all that?

Big sister Bismarck had kindly taken her into San Diego, to sightsee, shop, and otherwise have fun. So, she'd return the favor and take her big sister on a trip into Kiel. Eugen wasn't sure how much the battleship recalled of her homeland… but Bismarck definitely deserved to see Germany as it was now, Abyssal attacks notwithstanding.

"What do you _mean_ , my sister arrived over an hour ago, and has already been escorted to the base?" Tirpitz' voice rose. "I was there, at that time!"

 _Huh!?_

"Yes, sir, but–" A pause, and for a moment Eugen was surprised to see Tirpitz' head droop. "I understand. We are on our way."

"So, she _is_ at the base?" Eugen asked, as the other shipgirl slid her phone back into its clip at her waist.

"That's what I was told. However, we're not going there."

"And why not?"

Tirpitz sighed. "We've been ordered to head to the bay. The Abyssals have decided to mount an attack there."

"How convenient."

"I won't deny that the timing's suspicious. But unless you suspect someone at the base of being able to tell the Abyssals where and when to attack, it's just a coincidence," reasoned Tirpitz.

The cruiser breathed an annoyed growl. "Okay, then, forget the Abyssals for now. How did they get her here so fast? How could she get here like an hour earlier than me, if her plane left right before mine?"

"Well…" Again, Tirpitz paused, her face adopting a thoughtful look. "If, as you said, the pilots don't want to tax the planes, we can assume they would avoid flying faster than usual. So… what if we were given a later ETA, and your pilot flew slower, to match? Or took a longer course?"

"What would be the point? Why go through all this, just to get her here early?"

Tirpitz' expression hardened. "I don't know. But I _will_ find out – as soon as we take care of those Abyssals."

* * *

The area surrounding Iowa's desk in her quarters was a clear example of sheer disarray, stacks of paperwork that hadn't been shuffled away to the kitchen counter waiting urgently for her attention.

So focused was the battleship upon one of the many shipgirl profiles lining her desk, that she almost missed noticing the increasingly familiar tweedle-ring of an incoming Skype call.

"Iowa?" Prinz Eugen's voice emerged from her tall speakers, the shipgirl noticing the state of Iowa's quarters. "Are you… _whoa_."

Iowa glanced at the user ID displayed in the call window. "Hey, Eugen. Using Tirpitz' setup?"

"Yeah, yeah – I've gotta get my own computer. So, what's all that? When we left yesterday, your room was sort of… I don't know, _clean_."

That triggered a grumble from Iowa. "The rain finally came in, and it's been pouring all day, so they wanted me to help go over the shipgirl training budget allocations and make sure everything 'looks okay,'" she said, adding air quotes with her fingers. "Oh, and because I'm supposed to be deciding on my second-in-command, I've gotta pore through a few dozen shipgirl profiles to compare their qualifications."

"But, big sister Bismarck–"

"Isn't here, and besides, I have to give everyone a fair chance." She choked back the urge to laugh at the younger shipgirl's adorable pout – somewhat difficult, considering that pout was being broadcast over a big-screen HDTV.

"So why all the paper? Wouldn't it be easier to go through the computer files?"

"I don't have administrative access." Sure, make a shipgirl Commander of the Fleet, but hey, don't give her access to a majority of the tools needed to do the job. Yamato, Nagato and Mutsu didn't have to sort through their personnel files on paper! She'd seen the Yokosuka office! They each had computers on their desks!

Iowa shot the nearest pile of paper a decidedly intense glare. "I work SO hard on getting away from the offices and doing paperwork, and they find a way to get me to do it, all over again. Except, y'know, without an actual office."

"They're not giving you an office?" Eugen asked, incredulous.

"Nope. I'm commanding the Fleet from my bedroom."

Allowing a moment for that thought to fester, Iowa decided a change of subject was in order. "So, I'm guessing Bismarck got in okay, or you would've said something. Where is she? Tirpitz showing her around?"

The cruiser winced. "Umm…"

"Tell me what happened," ordered Iowa, instantly alert.

"We don't exactly know! Turns out, they deliberately gave us a delayed ETA so they could get her here over an hour early. And when we were finally able to return to base, they told us she was in dry-dock, because she accepted an offer they made to be upgraded!"

Eugen quailed at the anger that flashed through Iowa's eyes, taking a reflexive step back. The battleship's hands twitched. "Dammit," Iowa snarled. "I should've _known_ they'd try something like that! I _should have fucking known_."

There was a surprisingly gentle knock at the wall behind the speakers. "ENOUGH WITH NOISES AND CURSING!" Gangut's voice filtered through the divider.

"Known _what_?" The swearing, Eugen ignored. Really, Iowa's rant paled in comparison to many of the things she'd heard during her time as a U.S. Navy ship…

"They're trying to manipulate her, mentally, to where she'll want to stay there!"

"They're _what_!?" Eugen started, outrage beginning to form. Sure, she was willing to admit that she'd love it if her big sister made that decision. And that her orders had indeed included the _possibility_ of trickery or deceit.

But it didn't feel right, deceiving Bismarck into wanting to stay in Germany. Her big sister would never forgive her. Admiral Treston's words would forever echo in her mind – that it had to be Bismarck's choice, free of any tricks or coercion. "How?"

"You know how, as older ships, our upgrade paths tend to be fairly limited? At least, not without considerable overhauls," Iowa explained. "And, often, as ships we might've already _had_ all those upgrades in some form, so as shipgirls, we're just getting back what we originally had.

That's important, because a possible side effect of upgrades is that a shipgirl might be placed in sync with a later, or even different version of her original self. We may have changes in appearance, personality, et cetera. Look at Yamato, for example. She underwent an upgrade, and all of a sudden, her uniform's changed to show a new flag she's flying, she's speaking a bit more casual than she used to, and Musashi says she's acting more impulsive and reckless in battle."

Eugen pursed her lips. Most of the changes weren't that significant – Yamato was entitled to behave differently, if she so chose – but all of them, viewed as a whole? Just enough, maybe, to support Iowa's claims. "Iowa? Where did you hear that stuff about the upgrades?"

"Vestal told me. When she was working on Shi…nano, she said it was a possibility with upgrades _and_ the repairs and improvements they were making to Shinano."

"But then…" Eugen gasped. If a repair ship was effectively confirming it, it had to be true! She gathered her resolve. "We've gotta get them to stop the upgrade! Reverse it."

Iowa shook her head. "A shipgirl upgrade isn't something you can stop or reverse," she said, visibly shuddering.

"…Vestal?"

"Yeah." With a little effort, the older shipgirl collected herself. "Unfortunately, now that the upgrade's underway, the only thing we can do is wait and see what Bismarck's like when it's done."

They both fell silent, then, neither of them particularly happy with that plan of action. Bismarck was a friend. A sister. She deserved better than 'wait and see!'

Iowa made a half-hearted effort to re-sort the stacks of paperwork on her desk for the next couple of minutes, the other shipgirl idly watching, as if she had nothing better to do.

A sudden realization struck Eugen. "Umm… Iowa?"

"Yeah?"

"If your speakers are against her wall, and Gangrene can make out what you're saying… then, technically, can't she eavesdrop on your video calls?"

"…Dammit."

* * *

"Inazuma?" Hikaru turned to face the destroyer, seated upon the opposite end of her house's small patio. "What's it like, bein' on the water?"

Inazuma scanned what she could see of the distant ocean from her seat, and offered her twin a wistful sigh. "It's… _incredible_." She'd been constructed as a destroyer, a warship, but that didn't matter – to a ship, there was nothing like the feeling of dropping her screws in the water and setting off, letting the winds, currents or even whim take her where they may. To steam, with the only concerns being her range, speed and fuel.

No shipgirl could stand being away from the water for too long. They tended to go stir-crazy as the days passed, restless and anxious with the eventual _need_ to step onto the water and go somewhere…

Ah. Her eyes found Hikaru's, noting the hope building there.

After Hikaru's Awakening, Mrs. Yamazaki had decided to keep her daughter-turned-destroyer at home, forgoing school in favor of a private tutor. The problem was, the house wasn't really suited to accommodating an unadjusted, newly-Awakened _Akatsuki_ -class destroyer – breakables were _everywhere_ , and all of Hikaru's possessions were still in her bedroom on the second floor.

There was a normal-sized bath on the ground floor, too small for Hikaru to even pretend she was steaming… somewhere. And while there was a decent view of the ocean from the Yamazaki back porch, the only easy and fast way to get to that ocean from the house was to walk about a meter, climb over a guard rail and hop off the cliff, a rock overhang a good fifteen feet or so above the water.

"Maybe there's a swimming pool in the area your Mom would let you go to?" she suggested.

"Other than the one at my school, I only know of one, nanodesu. I already tried askin' Mom, too."

"What if we can prove to her you need t'be able to get on the water?"

"She knows."

Inazuma froze in mid-thought. "What?"

"It was on that list Yamato-san sent Mom, of some things she needed t'know in takin' care of me now that I'm a destroyer."

"Then why–"

"I don't know!" Hikaru all but shouted, eyes flashing. "She doesn't let me do anything now!"

That much, Inazuma had guessed, or seen. Yet the thought that Mrs. Yamazaki was _deliberately_ keeping Hikaru-chan away from the water wasn't sitting well with her. Her reincarnate didn't deserve this sort of treatment!

She pulled herself to her feet, and turned to open the patio door. "I'm gonna try to get her to let you go to that pool, nanodesu." Obviously, taking Hikaru to the base and letting her steam near the docks while supervised was a much better choice – except Mrs. Yamazaki would never allow that, and Inazuma didn't want to risk the fallout that would probably result from merely proposing it.

Hikaru's mother had only today decided to allow the two of them to be together without remaining nearby and monitoring every single word Inazuma said. She hoped that attempting to convince the woman to at the very least take Hikaru-chan to a pool now and then wouldn't reset _that_ back to square one. Picking and choosing her words when Mrs. Yamazaki was anticipating a new recruitment speech every time she took a breath… that had not been fun.

Oh, her sisters were always way better than her at finding the best things to say…

"She'll never do it."

"I've gotta try." She'd wanted to add a comment about how Hikaru's mother shouldn't be keeping her locked away, but better to keep it to herself until she had proof – and was sure the woman wasn't eavesdropping.

* * *

Tirpitz warily peered into the water around her, carefully scanning for enemy subs.

Nothing. They were there, she knew. Somewhere. Waiting for the ideal time to send a few dozen torpedoes her way.

Her frown deepened. If only she had her original upgrades… being able to launch her own torpedoes again would improve her mood greatly.

Two days prior, the Abyssals had abandoned their hit-and-fade tactics for straightforward assaults.

Whoever was commanding the demons knew enough to recognize that the Kiel Fleet had middling defenses against underwater threats… and therefore, to be contrary, had added a number of Abyssal submarines to the day's attack force.

Poor U-30 and U-100 – the only submarines in the Kiel fleet – had had their hands full even without having to contend with enemy subs.

She heard the report of Eugen's guns before the cruiser slid into view, sniping a sub foolish enough to break the surface of the water, then throw herself forward to dodge yet another torpedo. Taking careful aim, Tirpitz detonated the annoyance, her crew keeping an eye out for more fish headed _her_ way.

Eugen's frustrated growl sounded on the Fleet's radio frequency. _I'm_ _ **really**_ _getting sick of having to dodge these things every time I turn around!_ she griped.

" _Hmm…_ " Tirpitz tapped two fingers to her earlobe. " _U-100? U-30? Status report. How many Abyssal subs are left?_ "

 _I… have been better,_ U-100 bit out. _Moderate damage. And I count three subs remaining._

 _I, too, am approaching moderate damage. And I concur – there are three subs,_ added U-30.

" _Okay. If either of you think you can take out one more sub, you may try one last attack, if you wish. Otherwise, I want you to fall back. We can't afford to lose anyone._ "

 _Understood._

… _And couldn't they have waited until_ _ **after**_ _bi– um, Bismarck got out of dry-dock?_

Tirpitz smiled in spite of herself, wondering why Eugen was bothering with the pretense. Everyone on the base was well aware how Eugen revered her 'big sister.'

Her smile soon faded. It had been a week and a half since her sister entered dry-dock, for an upgrade Bismarck had supposedly accepted. And Bismarck was slated for release this very afternoon.

Eugen had passed along Iowa's… concerns about the upgrade process, despite how fantastic it sounded. Really, the idea that _someone_ here at Kiel was using an upgrade to influence her sister's mind?

Except there was more to it than the mere suspicions of a USN battleship across the ocean. Iowa had the benefit of information given her by an expert, a veteran repair ship – and the odd behavior of rushing Bismarck here and into an upgrade was hardly explainable any other way.

Sure, maybe they wanted Bismarck at her best when she confronted the Abyssals. But she doubted Bismarck would so readily accept such an improvement… and if they were so willing to give Bismarck an upgrade, why not offer her sister an upgrade, as well?

No. The base didn't have the resources to spare for upgrades unless they were absolutely necessary, or would without a doubt lead to decisively ending battles with the Abyssals, if not the war.

She caught movement in the water, in the corner of her eye; a spread of three torpedoes were approaching off her starboard side. Tirpitz immediately turned to detonate them, while simultaneously warning her crew to continue keeping watch for more torpedoes, or the sub who had launched them. The small size of the Kiel Fleet tended to inspire the larger Abyssal forces to want to 'play' more with their targets.

Suddenly, her crew yelled, calling her attention to the _four_ torpedoes that were now speeding her way. She spun, eyes widening.

No. Wait. She calculated the torpedoes' course. They weren't set to intercept her, but bypass her at an angle… heading nowhere near any member of the Fleet, assuming everyone maintained their current positions.

Tirpitz visually tracked the torpedoes as they whipped past her – and was stunned when they impacted upon something less than two meters away, the explosions launching a broken Abyssal submarine several yards into the air.

Another couple of heartbeats saw Bismarck slowing to a halt alongside her. "Tirpitz?" her sister asked, concerned. "Are you okay? I apologize for cutting it close with the torpedoes."

Tirpitz blinked. "Those were _your_ torpedoes?" Her gaze shifted to Bismarck's rigging, where she noted the radar improvements, double-ended catapult… and most importantly, the quad torpedo-tube mounts near her sister's waist.

She couldn't believe her eyes. Bismarck had _her_ upgrades!

"Yes." Bismarck nodded. "They said that had I not been sunk, I would have been considered for the same upgrades you received, so… they applied those upgrades to me. And I'm glad they did."

"Why?" Bismarck's uniform had also shifted to a darker gray, noted Tirpitz; Eugen had convinced Bismarck and Iowa, the former finally wearing her proper shipgirl uniform, to pose for a keepsake photo outside Bismarck's plane, and sent them all copies.

"Our Fleet is barely holding out against the Abyssals. Mostly due to the fact that they're just toying with us. If we don't do something to tip the odds in our favor as soon as possible, they'll keep steadily increasing the size of the forces they send."

Tirpitz shot her sister a suspicious glance. "Do you think you'll be able to help us tip those odds, then?"

Bismarck exhaled. "I don't know. But I can't avoid my responsibilities to our Fleet. That's why I've decided to request I be permanently assigned here."

 _She means it,_ realized Tirpitz, taken aback by the vehemence in her sister's voice. _Is this decision entirely hers… or did they engineer it?_

* * *

"… _and that's why I've chosen to resign my commission,_ " the on-screen representation of Bismarck concluded. " _Admiral, please tell Iowa I wish I could've apologized to her directly, but even now, I'm needed. The Abyssals are mounting an attack, and I will not leave my sister and the other members of our Fleet to fight alone._ "

Admiral Treston paused the video's playback on his monitor, turning in his office chair to regard the simmering battleship who had intently watched her friend's recorded resignation through narrowed eyes.

"You just _let_ her resign?" Iowa finally demanded. "Even though she's _obviously_ been manipulated?" The Admiral couldn't see the changes to Bismarck's ship-self, she knew, and the German would have to summon her rigging for him to be able to see the difference – torpedoes? She had torpedoes, now!? – but it was impossible to miss Bismarck's altered uniform, and that she was abruptly speaking English with a German accent.

Iowa was willing to bet Bismarck could now speak German fluently.

An officer, presumably Bismarck's new Admiral, had stood beside the battleship for the duration of the video, the woman smirking when she assumed everyone's attention was elsewhere.

As if she'd somehow won the war.

The Admiral sighed. "Unless you have absolutely incontestable proof she's been manipulated into wanting to stay, it's our word against theirs. And Bismarck would be testifying on _their_ behalf." He stopped to consider that. "Be careful what you say or do with them, including Bismarck, from this point on. We cannot afford to risk an international incident with Germany over this."

Iowa raised an eyebrow, yet said nothing. He was right, as much as it pained her to admit; if she took matters too far, too fast or otherwise went overboard, she would find herself all alone, without any backing whatsoever.

"What if," she inquired, "we have Vestal testify in regard to the _other_ ways upgrades can change or influence a shipgirl?" _Hmm._ _Gotta_ _remember to call Yamato. Akashi can corroborate everything, I'm sure._

"That only proves that something _can_ happen, not that it _has_ happened."

 _Well, fuck._

"Iowa."

"Sir?"

He gestured to the still-frame image of Bismarck on his monitor. "Now, I do not like the underhanded way this plot was carried out. An officer under my command has been effectively kidnapped and brainwashed.

That said… She was allowed to make this choice. She believes that it is what she wants. How far are you willing to take this? Will you have her return here, knowing she might resent you for not respecting her choices?"

"If she wants to stay there," replied Iowa, voice initially hesitant, "even after learning what they did to her, I'll respect that. But I believe that whoever's responsible for this scheme shouldn't be able to get away with it… no matter their rank."

The Admiral uttered a noncommittal grunt, staring at her as if expecting her to say something else.

"…Sir?" she ventured.

"Very well." He reclined in his chair. "It's against my better judgment, but I'm going to let you go ahead with whatever it is you're planning, so long as you clear each step with me. Understood?"

Iowa straightened. "Yes, sir." Her gaze wandered back to her friend's image. "Umm… I was wondering… as commander of the Fleet, should I write a letter to Bismarck's parents explaining what's happened?"

"No, I'll take care of that. Her parents asked me to personally keep them informed of everything that involves their daughter. They didn't want to get their information from the evening news." Or rather, the Webers didn't want the entire state, country or world to know every detail about Alexis' military career before they did. "Besides, I seem to remember you mentioning something about already being overloaded with paperwork…?"

The battleship's shoulders slumped. "If I put in a rule never to remind me about paperwork, can we make it stick?"

"If I can't do it, you can't."

"Hmph."

* * *

Author's notes: For those keeping score, Bismarck has essentially received her _drei_ upgrade, and Yamato has her Kai upgrade.

Special thanks: J. St. C. Patrick

* * *

OMAKE: Tirpitz, Lone Queen of the North

Bismarck's eyes remained fixed on her sister as she made her way down the ramp.

She was nervous about finally meeting Tirpitz, of course. For all that she'd _known_ since experiencing her 'vision' that she would be reunited with both Tirpitz and Prinz Eugen, very few of her memories of them as individuals had returned.

What would her sister think of her?

Curiously, while Eugen had positioned herself next to Tirpitz, the girl was _also_ carefully keeping an eye on Tirpitz, rather than preparing a cheerful greeting for her 'big sister.'

"Okay, I'm here," said Bismarck, as she stepped off the ramp to join the pair. "Now what?"

Whatever response Eugen thought to offer died in her throat as Tirpitz began circling Bismarck, seemingly appraising her sister's body.

"…hey, what're you doing?" Eugen asked, in German.

The battleship didn't respond for an uncomfortably long moment. "Perfect!" she exclaimed, gleefully hugging Bismarck before taking a step back and pushing a small box into her sister's hands. "Here. You'll need this."

Eugen translated. Bismarck turned the box about in her hands, recognizing the pictures, if not the words. "Hair dye…? _Red_ hair dye?"

"Better you than me," Eugen muttered, snorting. "She hates how I look as Anna next to her when she's playing Elsa. Says I keep upstaging her."

Tirpitz turned a reproving glare on her. "We still need someone to play Olaf," she announced.

At that, Bismarck wondered what her sister had said to cause Eugen to pale.

A new, stray thought occurred to her. "Wait, you didn't talk me into coming here just to be my sister's cosplay buddy, did you?"

Both her companions ignored her, choosing instead to head toward the APC.

"C'mon, at least tell me I'm not gonna have to sing."


	19. Navigating Dire Straits

"Are you _sure_ you're okay?"

Bismarck slowed in her determined stride across the Naval Base Command Kiel compound, in favor of offering her 'little sister' a mildly puzzled stare. "Yes. Why do you keep asking me that?"

Strangely, neither Eugen nor her sister seemed willing to meet her gaze.

"Iowa's very worried about you, you know."

That brought Bismarck up short, her expression growing more perplexed until suddenly, it was gone. "Mmm," she murmured. "The Admiral should've shown her my resignation message by now. But, I'd better remember to call her later… if that's okay with you, Tirpitz."

She blinked, surprised by the pair's shock at her remark.

"Hold on. You resigned your commission with the U.S. Navy?" blurted Eugen.

"Yes." Bismarck nodded. "Admiral Dietrich let me send them a video message right before I sortied. As she said, it doesn't make sense for me to maintain that commission when I'm clearly needed here."

Tirpitz narrowed her eyes, but said nothing.

They turned onto the walkway that led to the barracks building set aside for the battleship and cruiser shipgirls of the Kiel Fleet. Crossing the threshold, Bismarck proceeded to head for her door. "Tell you what," she offered. "Give me a little time to settle in and arrange the furniture to my liking, and we'll have a little housewarming party or something, okay?"

"We'll look forward to it," Tirpitz said, diplomatically.

Allowing Bismarck a moment to step into her room and shut the door behind her, Tirpitz promptly spun on one heel and began walking in the direction from which they had come, Eugen sprinting to follow her out of the building.

"I'm going to pay the Admiral a visit," she informed the cruiser.

"You sure that's a good idea?" asked Eugen. "If she's got anything to do with all this…"

Tirpitz frowned, adopting a firm look of determination. "I have to know. Bismarck is my sister, and if someone is manipulating or endangering her in any way, I deserve to know the truth." And a right to confront the responsible parties, she didn't say. She was a battleship, after all.

"C'mon, haven't you watched any TV or movies? You don't tell the evil masterminds you know all about their plans!"

She hesitated, staring at her companion in disbelief. "'Evil masterminds?'" Perhaps Eugen needed to cut back on her television and movie-watching?

"Do you honestly think she believes we don't suspect a thing? That we would let this go unchallenged?"

"No, but–"

"If Bismarck asks," Tirpitz instructed, taking care not to look Eugen in the eye, "don't tell her where I've gone."

* * *

 _I won't lie to you, Tirpitz – between the sorry state of our fleet, and that Prinz Eugen is about to depart for the United States in an effort to convince your sister to join us… we may not be able to repel an attack, should those monsters decide to change tactics. That's why I'm glad you're here._

The sincere greeting that the Admiral had given her when she emerged from the summoning circle replayed in Tirpitz' mind.

She'd smiled, then. The battleship _Tirpitz_ was being called – _needed_ – for the purpose which she'd been constructed.

To fight a war upon the seas with demonic ships borne of the Abyss. 'Abyssals,' who intended to utterly destroy everything and everyone.

And maybe, just maybe, she and her sister would be able to combat them together… someday.

Her eyes lingered briefly on the desk used by the Admiral's aide, in the outer office. Where was Hoffmann, she wondered? Off for the evening, or overseeing administrative affairs somewhere on the base? The woman was just as diligent as the shipgirls Tirpitz had read about in online news articles, serving as aides or secretaries to their superior officers. One of the often-used examples, was the base in Japan that had Yamato, of all shipgirls, and two other battleships on-staff, supposedly one of the most efficient naval base offices in the country.

Oh, well. Why she was letting herself be distracted, Tirpitz was hardly sure. Confronting the Admiral would be an order of magnitude more difficult, if she had to schedule an appointment through Hoffmann… and wait.

She weaved around the desk to reach the door to the inner office, and pulled it open. "Admiral," she called, tonelessly.

The Admiral kept most of her attention focused on the paperwork spread across the top of her desk, not sparing Tirpitz a glance as the battleship walked into the office. "Ah, Tirpitz. I was wondering when you might be dropping by."

"What have you done to my sister?" Tirpitz wasted no time in assuming a position opposite the woman, forcing an accusatory tone into her voice… and letting what she hoped was a sufficient frown take shape. "Have you tampered with her mind?"

Admiral Dietrich sighed, slowly shaking her head. "My dear, the only 'tampering' I've done was to expedite her upgrade. That's all." She paused for a breath. "If the upgrade just so happens to better synchronize her with her former self, and in the resulting rush she feels more patriotically inclined to stay with us and help, so much the better."

Tirpitz resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Had the Admiral actually rehearsed this speech? "…'Rush?'"

"A sort of… backwash, if you will, generated as a result of her synchronizing with a version of herself from a different time. I really should thank her, you know. If she hadn't been actively suppressing some or all of her past, the effect wouldn't have hit her as hard."

That didn't sound right. "What do you mean, 'suppressing her past?'"

"You can't tell me you never wondered _why_ your sister's been so adamant about not wearing her shipgirl uniform while at that U.S. base? Especially next to someone so blatantly dressed as that American battleship?" The Admiral stood, wandering to the solitary small window in the office that offered a view of the base's main road, turning her back to Tirpitz. "Ah, but that's her story to tell, I suppose. At any rate, she should be back to normal in short order."

"And then, she'll realize what you did to her," observed the battleship. Privately, she hoped that the woman's claim was true, that her sister was indeed recovering. Bismarck had been so… _serious_ during the war, never given much chance to just be herself; the Admiral's scheme had effectively tossed her sister directly back into that mindset. "That you've trapped her here."

"It was her choice," the Admiral replied, airily. She cast a peripheral glance over her shoulder, in Tirpitz' direction.

"You took advantage of her, and tricked her into making those decisions!" Tirpitz snapped. A sudden thought occurred to her. "Not to mention you're risking an international incident – she's a U.S. citizen, _and_ has a family, there. They're not going to let you just induct her into service!"

"That's where you're wrong."

"What?"

"You see, because most governments don't want to have to deal with all the little technical details… in many regions – the United States included – when someone Awakens as a shipgirl and their government becomes aware of it, they're legally no longer considered citizens, but shipgirls, with the same status as any other shipgirl." The Admiral's expression hardened, her voice turning cold. "And since as ships, all of you are _technically_ still the property of your respective countries…"

Tirpitz gasped, the implications striking her.

"Good. I see you understand."

* * *

Hiei's head bobbed in time to the beat of the song she was humming… Naka's latest. A catchy, infectious tune. The music, anyway; she had yet to memorize any of the lyrics. Or the song's name.

Well, it wasn't as though she needed to have _that_ done anytime soon. Really, wouldn't Naka be the only one to complain?

If there was any extra horsepower-free bounce to her step, Hiei didn't notice. Absently, she shifted the loaded cloth bags whose straps she had looped around her right arm to her left, thoughts lingering on the chat she'd had with the nice older woman in charge of the base's grocery store, trading cooking tips and suggestions.

At least now, she knew precisely why her attempts at curry weren't turning out the way she expected.

Seasoning.

Either she wasn't using enough, or her curry could stand to be fairly more spicy. Or both.

It would have to wait until she felt like trying another batch of curry, however. Mrs. Murakami had offered the battleship a peek at her recipes, a chance to copy whatever Hiei found of interest. Finding a shipgirl with actual interest in cooking was exceedingly rare, the woman had remarked, smiling, and said that it was only proper to encourage such behavior.

Hiei hadn't had the heart to tell Mrs. Murakami the only reason she liked to cook was because she'd developed a passion for it long before Awakening as a shipgirl.

Eh – letting Mrs. Murakami believe she was Summoned and not Awakened probably wouldn't hurt. She had a new friend, of sorts. A friend who'd provided her with several 'simple, foolproof' recipes for interesting new dishes Hiei sorely wanted to try.

And _that_ was why she'd proceeded to buy three cloth bags' worth of ingredients.

The smartphone tucked within her haori suddenly blared the opening to _Sky High Battle for Love!_ – her favorite song of all time, one of Naka's earliest. Both the song and its video had been so wonderfully cheesy, the producers shamelessly green-screening poor Naka dancing atop anything and everything that flew, from the wings of a 747 to the head of a Pacific swallow… so much so, that the _real_ footage of the idol performing from the landing struts of a helicopter in flight clashed laughably with the rest of the video.

She had no idea who might be on the other end of the line, of course, unable to bring herself to set a unique ringtone for each of her contacts.

Hopefully, it wasn't Kirishima, again, asking her to pick up another romance novel 'while she was out.' Kirishima swore her interest in the books was merely academic; the publishers were apparently beginning a new series of books where one or more of the leads were shipgirls, and her little sister wanted to 'make sure they have their details correct.' Right.

Sliding the phone out, Hiei sighed upon seeing the contact's name displayed on the screen. Not a sister, then, but still a relative.

"Oh, Father," she greeted, after pressing the _Accept_ button. "I wasn't expecting you to call today. How is everyone? Kaname and Airi getting into trouble?"

Paying more attention to the street around her than the call out of necessity, she wended her way past the pedestrians following the road in either direction, only to have to throw herself out of the path of a trio of destroyers barreling through the intersection.

She checked her bags to make sure she hadn't dropped any of her supplies, and fired a withering glare in the destroyers' direction. _Ah, this_ _ **is**_ _a military base,_ she rationalized. _They're probably just late for a patrol._

Strangely enough, her father seemed not to have noticed the commotion. His voice spiked in volume.

"Yes, I'm still practicing," she informed him, rolling her eyes. "I don't know when I'll be able to visit for an evaluation, though. If I'm not training or out on deployment, I'm in the kitchen, trying–"

The voice grew anxious, and yet… bemused?

"I can _too_ cook, Father! Just because you didn't like–"

Scoffing.

Hiei just barely bit back a growl of frustration. Sometimes, her father could be so very annoying. Shouldn't he be supportive of her efforts to cook? "I don't know," she grated, losing the battle to keep her cool. "But I'm sure that if someone DID give the enemy my curry, they'd like it, because THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH IT!"

 _Umm… why are we yelling in the middle of a crowded intersection?_ some part of her mind thought to ask.

She reluctantly scanned the entire street only to confirm that yes, everyone was staring at her. "Uh… I'll have to call you back. Later. From my room," Hiei urgently whispered into her phone, before disconnecting and returning it to the clip within her haori.

* * *

It… was raining.

Iowa stared out the small window at the rear of her quarters. The rain was striking the panes and streaming down in annoying rivulets, which made visibility next to impossible, unless she wanted to know exactly which shade of overcast the sky happened to be. Even the occasional flares of lightning, followed by loud, rolling peals of thunder, was of little help.

Occasionally, the ends of Iowa's lips would turn sharply downward in a frown, until she realized what she was doing and corrected it.

The continued downpours effectively kept the entire Fleet confined indoors… and she'd already seen examples of the chaos that could result from _that_. Hell, the Taffies were under twenty-four hour watch as it was.

Not for the first time, she wondered if the Taffies would be more inclined to behave were her sister around. They always _had_ liked New Jersey more than her…

 _Well,_ she thought, deciding she needed to change the subject.

At least one _good_ thing about the weather was that the Abyssals seemed just as unwilling to be out in the torrential rain as most shipgirls.

Unless… She paused. Unless, the Abyssals simply ghosted to other locations throughout the world, to continue their attacks.

No. The Abyssals, able to teleport on a grand scale? That possibility didn't bear thinking about. Let the spooks or someone else debate it.

The paperwork stacks in her room had dwindled significantly with the removal of the shipgirl profiles, now that she had officially chosen Portland as her second-in-command.

Maybe she was a little old-fashioned, sure, but she'd been slightly disappointed the rain had ruled out any worthwhile type of ceremony, leaving only a base-wide announcement or two.

Portland had reported that the Taffies were unusually happy regarding her new position… and Iowa was _sure_ that translated into future headaches for her.

The remainder of the papers strewn haphazardly about her room weren't so much Fleet-related business as they were her attempts to figure out _something_ they could do to rescue Bismarck. She'd allowed the Admiral to assume she already had a plan or two in mind – when in reality, she was only creating and tossing out half-baked schemes.

Her best idea to date had been to invoke Bismarck's status as a citizen of the United States; surely there had to be some protections against effectively being kidnapped and pressed into service as a member of another country's military forces.

She'd been floored by the answer. Rather than take the time to draft rights for people-shaped ships, lazy lawmakers world-wide were letting things slide, forcing the Awakened to give up what additional rights they may have had as citizens, and legally, that left every shipgirl with the same rights she had as a ship.

They were all considered _property_.

Her respect for the Old Man had gone up a notch when, after he had finally managed to convince her to calm down, he'd asked her – had she ever seen him treat a shipgirl, before or after her Awakening, as anything other than a person?

She hadn't. And as far as she had seen, every member of Admiral Goto's fleet respected and cared for the man… though the less said about Kongou, the better.

Until Bismarck's new Admiral took advantage of the technicalities and an altered state of mind to convince Bismarck to leave the U.S. Navy and sign herself over to the German Navy, Iowa didn't think she'd ever seen anyone view or treat a shipgirl as property.

The revelation had completely invalidated all of her ideas – those schemes that were legal and didn't somehow involve heavily-armed commandos, anyway – forcing her to start over from the beginning.

A sudden, sharp knock jarred her from that line of thought. It took Iowa a moment to realize that, for a change, the sound hadn't come from the wall she shared with Gangut, but her door.

"Who is it?" she called.

"Portland," her visitor answered. "With more paperwork."

Groaning, Iowa tore herself away from the window, and trudged to the door. "C'mon in," she insisted, ushering the heavy cruiser inside.

USS Portland was a thin, unassuming slip of a shipgirl. She wore a standard white Navy sailor's top, which was somehow long enough to almost look like a jumper, halfway covering her neatly-pressed Navy-blue shorts. Her CA-series hull number, 33, was printed neatly in the middle of her collar. Knee-high socks and black flats completed her shipgirl uniform… most of which was currently extremely soaked.

She ran a hand through the short, wavy auburn hair plastered to her head, as though intending to dry it with only her fingers.

It was a quirk Iowa had noticed, at least with the members of their fleet… shipgirls just weren't as inclined to use an umbrella or raincoat, never having had to use such things when braving storms in the past.

Yamato occasionally carried a parasol, but Iowa was confident the Japanese battleship only used it for appearances, or protection from the sun.

Portland pulled a small stack of papers from storage, after accepting the large towel Iowa handed her for drying herself off. "Vestal and the Admiral's suggested changes to the budget to accommodate carriers."

Another groan. "You couldn't have kept them out in the open, on your way over here?"

The cruiser blinked. "But… then they'd get all wet, and ruined."

"I wouldn't have a problem with that."

"Commander…" Portland sighed in exasperation.

At that, Iowa snorted. "Just wait until they require _you_ to start turning in paperwork. That's all I'm going to say."

She watched her second-in-command's gaze idly track about the room. This was Portland's first visit to her commander's would-be 'office,' and for all she knew, the cruiser was contrasting Iowa's quarters with hers.

Then, Portland found the wall where she'd hung a few framed photos, digital snapshots printed on photo paper, and stopped cold, her eyes narrowing. "Why do you have a picture of _her_ up there?"

Iowa followed her gaze to the offending picture – the selfie Naka had insisted on taking right before she had boarded the plane heading Stateside. They'd crowded together, and dragged Yamato into frame.

Both she and Naka wore the customary goofy grins. Yamato? Her smile was obviously forced.

… _Yamato_.

"Leyte Gulf?" hazarded Iowa… and briefly, Portland's disapproving expression gave way to surprise. She'd read her subordinate's service history as part of her selection process; what she could recall of Yamato's history indicated that both Yamato and Portland had been present for the Battle of Leyte Gulf.

She didn't think the two had ever faced each other on the battlefield, but… did Portland have friends among the ships Yamato had fought and sunk?

Portland turned a renewed glare upon the battleship's picture. "Look," she said. "I know the war's been over for years. And I know… she's a friend of yours. But… I'm not ready to forgive and forget. Not for some time."

"Don't _forget_ ," Iowa told her, in all seriousness. "Forgive, but _never_ forget. As far as I can tell, Yamato hasn't forgotten, and has her own regrets."

"Sir?"

Iowa walked back toward the window, letting her eyes lose focus as she stared through the rain. "Do you know why we were in Japan, when I met Yamato? The brass was trying to determine why they're having far better luck at summoning than we are. We were supposed to see if there was anything we could copy, some way to improve our attempts." That was what all the official records concerning the mission claimed, what she was expected to tell everyone.

She'd accompanied Captain Meyers solely as the man's aide. Certainly not as a phony Enterprise, whom every shipgirl in the world – and probably the Abyssals, too – could tell to be fake _just by looking at her_. Nope.

"The Captain figured, that since Yamato merely being present at a summoning succeeded in drawing her sister, Musashi… maybe, we'd have some luck if she was to sit in on some of our ceremonies."

Ignoring the loud snort indicating exactly what Portland thought of the idea, Iowa continued. "Yamato had to remind him that our ships had viewed her as the enemy. That she was perhaps the largest target our ships fought hard to locate and sink, and she very much doubted any U.S. ships that _did_ show up would be happy to see her, assuming they weren't turned away by her being there in the first place."

"…She said all that?"

Iowa nodded, turning to face her. "Yeah. Portland… if you've got any personal issues with her, or any other Japanese ship, that's your business. I'm not gonna tell you you have to make friends with any of them. But, I want you to remember… they're our allies, now. We won't last long against the Abyssals, if we're too busy fighting each other."

* * *

" _Oh, my god…!_ "

Tirpitz started, a sense of dread welling within her at the sound of the anguished wail that filtered through her wall.

 _Bismarck!_

Leaping to her feet, she dashed for her door, catching herself just short of plowing into it. How much _did_ a replacement door – and, well, the frame and wall – cost?

Administration had thoughtfully assigned Bismarck the quarters immediately to the left of hers; it took Tirpitz less than a minute to navigate the hall and slip into her sister's room.

Bismarck was kneeling in the middle of her quarters, clutching her temples, fingers splaying into her hair.

The battleship's haunted eyes shifted to Tirpitz and back, acknowledging her sister's presence. "Tirpitz… what have I _done_!?"

Tirpitz rushed to her side, crouching and grasping Bismarck firmly by the shoulders with both hands. "It wasn't your fault!" she insisted. "The Admiral manipulated you!"

Bismarck frowned. "Not my fault? Tirpitz, I _chose_ to resign my commission and enlist with the German Navy! I have to share _some_ of the blame!"

She pulled herself free and stood, turning away. "After the… the upgrade, I felt so strongly about all this. I _had_ to be here. I had to help. I couldn't, for the life of me, let you, Eugen or anyone else in the Fleet fight the Abyssals alone. And what she had me do… _felt_ like the right thing to do. I couldn't help here, if I was still tied to the U.S., my life, my families. So, good-bye to them all."

"And I'll never see them again!" she wailed, dropping to her knees again while lowering her head into her hands.

Tirpitz drew her distraught sister into a hug. "I promise you, sister – if there's a way to get you home, we'll find it. I'm sure Iowa, your Admiral Treston, and parents are all working on that as we speak." _If they even_ can _do anything,_ she thought with a note of guilt, recalling what her Admiral had said in no uncertain terms about shipgirls being property. Revealing that information to Bismarck at the moment would only do more harm than good, in her opinion.

"That… sounds like Iowa, yeah," Bismarck remarked, offering her a weak chuckle. "I can imagine her trying to commandeer a cargo plane to come here and give Admiral Dietrich hell."

"There. You see? Now, all we have to do is wait to find out which of us ends up with the craziest plan," quipped Tirpitz, trying her best to sound optimistic.

Bismarck laughed.

 _And when the time comes,_ Tirpitz vowed, _I may very well go with you._

* * *

Author's notes: Portland's character design was created by J. St. C. Patrick. Thanks!

Special thanks: J. St. C. Patrick, Pyeknu


	20. Necessary Adjustments

Bismarck snuggled further into the military-issue bedspread that covered her bed. It wasn't the thick, plush comforter she'd left with her futon mattress in San Diego… but at the moment, she was simply too damned happy that her adjustment period had ended, and she could _finally_ sit in a chair or sleep in an honest-to-goodness bed without worrying that everything might end up a flattened, twisted mess at the bottom of a small impact crater.

Come to think of it, had Mom and Dad ever had their driveway fixed? They'd never mentioned anything about it to her…

 _Bed,_ she firmly reminded herself. _Not depression._

One of the most frustrating issues with the so-called 'adjustment period' was that no one, including the shipgirls being forced to 'adjust,' could tell when the process _ended_. There were no signs or indicators of how long the period was to last, or when it was complete.

Scientists and doctors had concluded through observation that the size of a ship and her displacement had a bearing on the length of the adjustment period… but been unable to determine anything else.

Which meant, of course, it had more to do with magic and spiritualism than science.

She had only discovered her change due to a fluke. Bismarck had seen precious little sleep since her arrival in Kiel, a combination of her predicament, having to live in a completely different area… and that her room's floor was quite hard and _cold_ , despite her best efforts.

So, when Tirpitz and Prinz Eugen had dressed Zombie Bismarck, earlier this morning, and dragged her to the mess hall, the battleship had absently grabbed a cup of coffee before shambling to one of the tables, pulling out a chair and plopping onto it.

It wasn't until the coffee successfully triggered a reboot of her mind that she realized what had happened, and why her sisters were trying to get her attention.

Eugen then volunteered to risk sitting in a chair. Her summoning had preceded Bismarck's Awakening, so if _Bismarck_ had finished adjusting…

The chair refused to yield to the cruiser's weight.

"That just leaves me," Tirpitz sighed, a melancholy note to her voice. A moment later, she perked as an idea formed. "What would you say if… I arranged for the three of us to go into the city, to celebrate the end of your adjustments?"

Bismarck frowned. "I really doubt the Admiral will allow that. She's got to be keeping close watch on me, at the very least."

"…Oh." The thought sobered the three shipgirls.

 _Hey, that's right. Iowa Awakened before me, too,_ Bismarck realized, her mind drifting back to the present. _I'll bet she's also done adjusting and hasn't realized it, yet._

Thinking about Iowa spurred another twinge of guilt. She'd had a few opportunities to simply call Iowa over Tirpitz' Skype setup – assuming it wasn't somehow being monitored – but hadn't been able to bring herself to do it… to talk to her friend.

Tirpitz had ultimately revealed what the Admiral had said when confronted. That the woman claimed by law, all shipgirls were technically considered the property of their respective countries. Something about that declaration had sounded sketchy as far as Bismarck was concerned, however, and she certainly wasn't going to accept the Admiral's word at face value.

Fortunately, Tirpitz had a computer in her room capable of accessing the Internet. A computer that was likely being monitored, but with any luck, researching the laws the Admiral had referenced wouldn't trip any red flags.

After a few minutes' worth of searching, Bismarck believed she'd located her target.

When the Awakened had begun to appear, the United Nations, already in the midst of deliberating how to ensure all shipgirls were treated equally and responsibly, found themselves facing a new wrinkle.

Awakened shipgirls could be _anyone_ , from royalty to a member of the lowest castes. Those girls would expect preferential treatment to continue, or to be treated better than they had before Awakening. Should a destroyer be elevated above every other member of a fleet simply because she'd been born into high society?

Shipgirls were, by nature, soldiers, needing an authority figure to act as a guardian and keep them out of trouble. Most shipgirls currently served with the navies of their respective countries, stationed at various naval bases. Why not, then, take that a step further and declare all shipgirls wards of their navies? Soldiers demanding preferential treatment usually didn't retain that behavior for long…

The plan had naturally come under fire, with the most common criticism being that it was the equivalent of declaring that shipgirls were the property of their countries' military forces. Were they ships – tools of war – or individuals?

Bismarck had spent another half-hour searching, yet hadn't discovered any other laws, international or German, that would allow anyone to treat shipgirls as property.

The Admiral _had_ to be referring to the U.N. decree. But the United Nations couldn't impose that as law on their own, if she remembered correctly; Germany must have agreed to uphold the policy. Was the Admiral aware of the full text of the 'law,' or just the belief that it allowed her to treat the Fleet as property? Dietrich had been careful to ensure the newest member of the Kiel Fleet enlisted in the German Navy…

Suddenly, Bismarck sat bolt upright in bed. _Wait a minute… it can't be_ _ **that**_ _easy to fix all this, can it?_ she asked herself. _If this works…_

She opened a channel to her sister. " _Tirpitz? Is anyone in the Fleet heading into the city today?_ "

 _I believe the submarines wanted to go shopping. They're probably already there. Why?_

" _I'll let you know in a little bit,_ " promised Bismarck. " _I need to ask them something._ "

She switched channels. " _U-100, U-30, this is Bismarck. Please respond. Are you in the city?_ "

 _Yes, we're in the city,_ U-100 replied, and briefly, Bismarck wondered if she had detected a touch of exasperation in the submarine's voice. _We needed to… buy_ replacements _for a few things._

Bismarck decided she was better off not knowing what U-100 was actually alluding to, and put it out of her mind. " _Okay. Would either you or U-30 be willing to do something for me?_ "

* * *

"…Admiral?"

He was, thankfully, something of a light sleeper. Able to jolt awake whenever someone stood nearby and called his name, or title. A conditioned reflex he'd developed over the years?

Admiral Treston wearily lifted his head from his desk, and opened his eyes… only to find himself staring up into a battleship's midriff. _Dammit, Iowa…_ He ever so carefully forced his gaze upward until it arrived at her face.

She was smirking, he noted. But then, that was practically Iowa's default expression.

"Iowa," he acknowledged, keeping his voice neutral.

What time _was_ it? The halfwit responsible for designing his office had thoughtfully placed the clock hardwired into the building's systems against the rear wall, leaving him unable to check it without turning almost completely around.

He'd forgone wearing a watch in recent years in favor of using his smartphone, the device resting snugly within the small phone holster clipped to his belt.

The next most convenient option, then, was to check one of the little clocks on his computer's screen… if the monitor were actually on. Damn.

"Sir, it's Bismarck!" Iowa blurted excitedly, raising a printout into view. "She managed to get an email to me, through someone else!"

He raised an eyebrow in interest. "Oh? What does it say?"

"She mentions how she's doing, what the upgrade and that Admiral did to her, and that she's back to normal, now."

Well, that, at least, was good to hear. Bismarck – Alexis – hadn't deserved the treatment she'd received from that woman. And for what? Sure, for a fleet that was in dire need of shipgirls, an additional battleship accounted for quite a bit. But in the long run? Against an enemy with time and numbers on their side? They needed _far_ more than a lone battleship.

Wanting to ensure your own fleet was strong first and foremost only worked if you were able to supply the needed ships. The Abyssals weren't going to wait for Dietrich to assemble a fleet to rival theirs.

"She also has a plan to fix everything."

Now, he was definitely interested. "…A plan? What kind of plan?"

"Here," replied Iowa, handing him the printout while gesturing to the section she had highlighted. "See for yourself."

"Hmm." He read the selection, feeling his eyes widen slightly. Read it again, to be sure.

"This could work," he concluded, reclining in his chair. "It'll require a bit of time and effort to implement, but it might just work. I'll make some calls and see if I can get things rolling."

"That's great." Iowa relaxed her stance somewhat, but made no motion to either retrieve her printout or leave.

"Is there something else, Lieutenant?"

"Sir?" she asked, softly. "Why did you tell me the law views shipgirls as property, when there _is_ no such law?"

He stared at her. "There isn't?"

"No. I did the same thing she did, and checked. There's no law, U.S. or international, that says we're property. Just people claiming that's what the U.N. decree, and the countries who have adopted it, are doing. Officially, we're wards of the Navy."

The Admiral raised a hand to his forehead to massage his temples. "I knew I shouldn't have tried to do it all myself."

"Sir?"

"Normally, my staff does all the researching, looking at a problem from all possible angles, things like that." He sighed. "But, as this is a sensitive matter, and I am a stubborn old idiot… I figured I could do the research."

A forced, self-deprecating chuckle, as he met her gaze. "Never mind that I haven't done anything of the sort in years. I was looking around online, and so many people were saying the exact same thing… Even retired military personnel and politicians."

"And when so many people say the exact same thing online, the more it shoots to the top of the search engines, making it far more likely someone will believe it without question." Iowa frowned. "You _know_ you have to verify anything you read on the Internet with official sources! Particularly for someone in your position!"

"I'll… take that under advisement."

The battleship turned a half-lidded stare on him. "Admiral…"

* * *

"… _Whoa_. Are those… y'know, shipgirls?"

"The big one with the messy brown hair? Gotta be. White-hair and Gray-hair? Maybe. They could've dyed their hair, though."

Oversized beach sunglasses, Shinano decided, were great for hiding those instances where she just _had_ to roll her eyes. Eavesdropping upon what everyone else on the beach was saying about the three of them had become a guilty pleasure, since as a shipgirl she was able to clearly hear every word – as could Zuikaku and Shoukaku, no doubt.

Hell, knowing Zuikaku, the other carrier was probably _enjoying_ the attention. Very much so.

Well… she'd done it. Survived training and evaluations with Akagi and the carriers of the Yokosuka fleet. Even Kaga had grudgingly admitted Shinano was fully prepared to serve as a carrier shipgirl in combat.

Only the lack of Abyssal incursions kept anyone from deploying her alongside an actual force as any sort of 'final test.'

She was expected to leave, soon… return to Naval Base San Diego, where she would take her place as the San Diego Fleet's first bird farm. In less than a week, according to Nagato.

Her two closest friends among the Yokosuka fleet had grabbed her, declaring to all that the three of them were going to set aside an afternoon for doing nothing but sunbathing on a local beach.

Shinano had protested, as she hasn't had the foresight to pack a swimsuit or bikini for her assignment, or buy swimwear on any of her trips to the stores in the city. Big sister Yamato had come to her rescue, offering to loan her a rather daring-cut bikini – something Naka had forced upon her at the mall, her sister insisted, but which she'd never worn.

The bikini's top was red, with a thick Y-shaped white stripe down the middle, and black criss-crossing straps. The bottom, a darker shade of red, with black piping.

It surprised Shinano that she'd been more concerned with the reactions her big sister would see while wearing the bikini, than what _she_ looked like, dressed in the thing.

Their minders were being inconspicuous, having set up shop in the lifeguards' cabin. Where better to keep an eye on their three charges and the rest of the beach? Three young men, getting to spend _hours_ just leering at shipgirls and who knew how many 'normal' girls in swimsuits…

Shinano mentally snorted. The guys were probably using equipment to monitor everything being said, too.

Okay, _maybe_ she was going a bit overboard with that conclusion. But… even if the minders weren't doing the leering, someone _else_ had to be. The lifeguards? Other guys on the beach? A man, watching from a distance, through binoculars – or worse, a telephoto lens? Shots of her, Zuikaku and Shoukaku were bound to be running in a minimum of three different newspapers by the morning!

"Uh… excuse me, Miss?"

Shoukaku sat up, blinking at the middle-aged man that had approached her. "Yes?"

"We, ah, were wondering… A-are the three of you… shipgirls?"

The sudden sunny smile that graced Shoukaku's face caught him by surprise. "Yes, we are. I am the carrier Shoukaku. This is my sister, Zuikaku, and our friend, Shinano," she said, gesturing to her two companions in turn.

Shinano nodded, allowing some of the tension to leave her as the man hastened to bow respectfully to them. She still wasn't used to being treated with reverence by civilians, even if all of the encounters thus far had generally followed the same script. He was honored to be in their presence, thankful for their efforts to defend Japan, and… hold on a minute, had Shoukaku said, " _Shinano_?"

She stared. That was a deviation she hadn't been expecting.

"Everyone, come quickly! Shinano-sama is here!"

 _What!?_

Before either she or the _Shoukaku_ sisters could think to react, what seemed to be the beach's entire population crowded around them in a tight circle.

Where were their minders?

"Shinano-sama," the man, now the head of a small group approaching her, gushed. "We never had a chance to thank you and your sisters for stopping that Abyssal attack. They came very close to destroying our homes."

"Uh, th-that's not necessary!" Great. Not only was she stuttering and flustered, but her voice was also rising in pitch. And she was sure she'd begun to blush. Again. "We were just doing our duty."

She caught the fleeting grin that washed across Zuikaku's lips, and was gone. Oh, so Zuikaku found her distress funny, did she?

"Nonsense!" the man exclaimed. Whatever he said after that was lost, however, as the older woman immediately to her side took Shinano's face in her hands, appraising her with a critical eye.

"You and my son will be perfect for each other," the woman intoned at last.

Paling, Shinano skittered backward, trying to place some distance between her and the woman. "Wh- _what!?_ "

…and then her minder was there, positioning himself in that space, and attempting to disperse the crowd. Peripherally, she could see the sisters' minders doing the same. "All right, folks. Move along, move along. Give the girls some space."

Shoukaku quietly edged closer to her. "Should we pack everything up and return to base?"

"If our minders didn't think we needed to be hustled out of here after all that, then I won't let it affect my day," answered Shinano, quickly scanning the beach to locate where the weird older woman had relocated.

"So tell me, Shinano," Zuikaku teased, as the larger carrier eased herself back onto her oversized towel. "Will you miss us?"

Honestly? She'd miss _everyone_ , Shinano knew. Yokosuka Naval Base as a whole. Her sisters, the Admiral, every shipgirl and member of the base's personnel… they had been so welcoming, so warm – well, with the possible exception of Iku – she felt as though she _belonged_ at Yokosuka.

And that she was a horrible, horrible sister, thoroughly aware her leaving was causing Yamato sadness.

But… what could she do? She was currently permanently assigned to Naval Base San Diego. Finally able to rejoin her old friend, Irene, after having been stationed at the opposite end of the country for way too long.

They were both, inexplicably, Awakened shipgirls. Irene was the reincarnated USS _Iowa_ , the first battleship shipgirl to join the ranks of the U.S. Navy.

She was the reincarnated _Shinano_ , formerly of the Imperial Japanese Navy, and now the U.S. Navy's first carrier shipgirl… though, as a Lieutenant Commander, she actually outranked Iowa by a slight margin.

Naval Base San Diego expected her to return, and resume her duties. Yamato had known that from the start. That little sister Shinano was only temporarily assigned to Yokosuka and had to leave following the completion of her training.

The battleship hadn't intentionally done anything to pressure her into being permanently reassigned to Yokosuka. Of course, that only made the guilt she felt worse.

Shinano still wasn't ready – or eager – to wade into the thick of battle, but she was as prepared as she could possibly be. She just had to take her sisters' strengths and use them to bolster her own. A _Yamato_ was a force to be feared on the battlefield…

"Oh, Shoukaku? I'll miss you, definitely," she said, emulating Iowa's infamous smirk. Returning her gaze to Zuikaku, she added, "You? …eh, I'll think about it."

Zuikaku scoffed. "You'd better," the twin-tailed carrier deadpanned.

* * *

Bismarck reclined against the wall forming the doorway to the Naval Base Command Kiel shipgirl bathhouse, her eyes straying to the stars twinkling far above in the night skies.

Her navigators drew her attention to Polaris. From there, she located the Little Dipper and Big Dipper.

Unlike the largely-repurposed buildings at Naval Base San Diego, the majority of Kiel's shipgirl facilities had been constructed specifically for those purposes from the start, and were therefore more efficient and accommodating.

Her sisters were inside, along with the rest of the Fleet, sleeping in the pools while the minor damage they'd suffered during the evening's sortie was repaired.

She herself had escaped damage by virtue of the enemy wanting to keep their distance from a _battleship_ with torpedoes. It wouldn't last, though.

Sighing wearily, Bismarck pushed away from the wall and turned to follow the path that led to the shipgirl barracks. The baths worked wonders – but like all repair processes, required some time to complete. Maybe… there was something worth watching on TV.

"Wonder what everyone else is doing," she muttered, mostly to serve as a distraction from the speed at which she was dragging her feet.

Eugen had informed her of the 'cluttered' state of Iowa's quarters. She could imagine that the paperwork had reached tidal proportions by now, more forms arriving faster than Iowa could clear them.

The Navy _loved_ paperwork, she was sure. Why else had they required her to fill out a half-ton of it when she enlisted, or swamped Iowa's room in the stuff? Had the Admiral appointed Iowa Commander of the Fleet just to offload a large percentage of his paperwork onto her?

Iowa had to have picked her second-in-command, already. But who had Iowa chosen?

Originally, when the Admiral appointed Iowa to her new role, the American battleship had immediately wanted to nominate Bismarck as her second… until the Old Man convinced her to go by qualifications, instead.

Ah, well, she'd learn Iowa's choice soon enough.

Shinano was… probably training, she supposed. What were the time differences between the U.S., Japan and Germany, again? And, she realized with a start, she knew barely anything about Yamato or Naka. Certainly not enough to make a reasonable guess what either of them might be doing.

Her train of thought thus brought to a screeching halt, Bismarck proceeded to walk for the next few minutes in silence.

 _Maybe I should follow Iowa's lead and get a PS4,_ she mused. _I'd rather get one of those handhelds, but I've got enough trouble trying to keep my_ _ **phone**_ _dry when I'm out._ Sure, stowing the devices in storage aboard her was always an option – though when she needed her phone at an instant's notice, having to take the time to retrieve it from storage was less convenient.

Waiting until she had saved enough money to buy a decent-enough computer was a better choice… but not while she remained under Admiral Dietrich's command.

Nothing so elaborate – or expensive – as Iowa's monster gaming rig, just a computer powerful enough to not choke with several browser tabs open. Definitely something capable of running Skype.

And maybe, just maybe, she'd give whatever online game Iowa, Naka and Yamato were playing a try.

Maybe.

She hesitated as she heard what sounded like the faint mewls of a kitten.

A constant, desperate cry. Bismarck's eyes widened.

Breaking into a sprint, she followed the sound even as her faeries urgently attempted to triangulate its source.

Her momentum carried her past the mess hall and up the slope behind the building, where she skidded to a halt near one of the meticulously-landscaped rosebushes. Unfortunately, that act startled the kitten, and its cries grew more frantic.

"Shhh," she soothed, trying not to make any additional noises while she dropped to her knees to peer under the bush. "It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you." Still, she couldn't help but imagine how the kitten must be seeing her. Scary extreme giant shipgirl, making the ground tremble? Yeah.

The tiny calico had wedged itself underneath an exposed root, and was now firmly trapped, unable to move in any direction.

Bismarck cast a wary glance about her. Where was this kitten's mother? The mother wasn't anywhere nearby; how could she leave one of her litter to cry like this?

But if Mama Cat _was_ in the area, the last thing Bismarck needed was for the cat to jump her while she tried to free the kitten. She ordered her crew to keep watch.

 _Let's hope this works._ Carefully tugging at the root, she raised it enough to allow her to ease the poor thing out of the trap.

Bismarck stood, cradling the kitten to her chest, above her heart. "There. See, you're okay."

Her only response was a single soft mewl, as the kitten snuggled against her. _Awwww…_ She slowly stroked its fur. "So, uh… um, if we can't find your mom, would you like to stay with me?"

Another mewl. Her eyebrows raised in surprise.

"…How do you feel about the name, 'Otto?' That was the name of my Captain. And the man for whom I was named."

* * *

Iowa pulled her covers closer, wrapping them around her… and frowned, when her feet and ankles were thrust into the cold, open air.

That did it. Rain or shine, first thing tomorrow, she was going to head into the city to buy a considerably larger comforter, at the very least.

How much longer would she have gone without realizing her period of adjustment had ended, if not for the little note Bismarck had added to her email, reminding Iowa to check? She'd grown used to living with the knowledge that she was far too damn heavy to sit or lie on anything that hadn't been reinforced with non-adjusted shipgirls in mind. Hell, she was at the point where she didn't even have to think about avoiding doing anything that might break furniture – she subconsciously steered herself onto safer paths.

Iowa drew her knees up, sliding her feet back under the covers, and chose to listen to the rain striking her windows for a while. Maybe it would help her sleep.

No such luck. Within seven minutes, she had resorted to staring at the red numbers on her digital alarm clock. She wasn't sure if she was waiting for the numbers to change, or just watching them.

 _This is stupid,_ she thought, uncurling her body and turning so that she lay on her back… again drawing her knees up. It was either that, or prop her feet upon the footboard. And she'd extended the bed as far as it allowed, too… _I've gotta face it. This bed's too small for me, now._

Maybe she could requisition a bigger bed?

Her eyes found the myriad glowing LEDs that indicated exactly where her computer was in the room. _Oh, right. I've also gotta get a replacement chair. Should've bought a new one after I broke the last chair, but… eh._ Iowa directed her thoughts inward. _You guys, don't let me forget. Okay?_

Whoever was manning her bridge at this late hour passed along an affirmative.

The LEDs also provided enough light to see the outline of her newest stack of paperwork. She groaned. _Guess I should add a couple file cabinets and an in/out box to the list._

She stared at the stack a moment longer. _Or an industrial shredder._

* * *

Special thanks: J. St. C. Patrick, Pyeknu


	21. Changing of the Guard

"Awwww, he's so cute!"

Tirpitz had to smile at the sight of Prinz Eugen, still in uniform, following Bismarck's new kitten around the room on her hands and knees. "And you named him, 'Otto?'"

"You're sure this is a boy?" Eugen asked, scooping the calico into her hands.

"Well… no," admitted Bismarck. "But I'll worry about that later." She turned to glance over her shoulder at her sister. "And yes, I named him 'Otto,' after my captain."

"Didn't he insist that you were supposed to be male, though?"

A dark look momentarily crossed Bismarck's face. "Yes." At the time, she'd humored the man, thanking her luck that the magic combined with his desire and belief hadn't seen fit to change her from the female ship-spirit she had been from the instant she came into being, to a male.

Honestly, she'd had enough concerns without adding potential identity crises to the queue. Too _powerful_ to be a female? Ha!

She shrugged. "He had his quirks. I'm sure your captains must have had quirks of their own?"

When her sister simply snorted a quiet laugh yet said nothing else, seemingly willing to let the topic drop, Bismarck shifted her gaze to Eugen. The cruiser was presently lying on the floor, letting the kitten traipse about on her stomach.

No doubt, if she had actually bothered to look, she'd find a rule or two prohibiting anyone at the base from keeping pets.

She didn't care.

The Admiral probably wouldn't do anything to place her crazy, jury-rigged scheme at risk. Her prized battleship was of little use if Bismarck were removed from active duty or tossed in confinement for breaking the rules.

All she wanted to do – for the time being, anyway – was adopt a tiny kitten, the Admiral be damned. An adorable little baby kitten that staggered around on shaky legs. Was that too much to ask?

The worst part was that she had no way of knowing if Iowa had received her email. If Iowa and… her former Admiral were acting on her suggestions… or an even better plan.

She couldn't justify sending U-100 back into the city to check her email account for replies.

 _Only thing I can do right now, is wait and see what happens,_ Bismarck thought, morosely. She watched as Eugen tried to convince a reluctant Tirpitz to hold the kitten. _Thank god I'm not alone._

* * *

"I _hate_ working in the Shipgirl Liaison Office," Yeoman Sarah O'Connell grumbled underneath her breath.

She forced a glare and what she believed to be a suitably severe scowl, causing a trio of destroyers to frantically scramble out of her way.

What in the world was running through these girls' heads? When one had to spend the better part of a morning at a construction job site in the city assuring the foreman that Honolulu _must_ have had a good, sensible reason for appropriating fifteen of their bags of raw cement…

Well, now it was out of her hands. The NSFs would check in on Honolulu, try to reclaim the bags – or reimburse the company from the shipgirl's pay – and figure out what Honolulu actually intended to do with the cement.

In the meantime, she had been assigned to babysit another shipgirl, on the usual run into the city. Joy.

And because the Universe was confirmed to have it in for her, who should she be slated to escort, but Queen Klutz herself, Naval Base San Diego's own bad-luck charm… William D. Porter.

To be fair, she hadn't met "Willie" in person; the girl's rather damning reputation spoke for itself, however. How could anyone wreak so much damage with _training torpedoes_?

She'd stopped by the destroyers' barracks building first thing, and the girl's fellow destroyers had indicated Willie was at the torpedo training range. Didn't the girl ever get the hint?

The increasing number of disgruntled shipgirls who passed her as she neared the training ranges, each almost completely coated with more than one color of nigh-florescent training paint and muttering dark things about Willie and the destroyer's bizarre luck, proved that no, Willie hadn't.

She paused, as the part of her mind concerned with self-preservation questioned _why_ she hadn't turned back, when she was extremely liable to meet the same fate as all the shipgirls who had walked past her? Training paint didn't wash off regular people as easily as it did with shipgirls!

 _It's not like I've got a choice,_ Sarah told herself. Nothing short of Willie being forced to sortie to deal with an Abyssal assault would justify abandoning her assigned job. The destroyer had been requesting a trip into the city for about a month, now, and no one would believe Willie canceled it at the last minute.

So. Onward, to quite possible death by training paint and shipgirl torpedoes.

Only one shipgirl remained on the range as she arrived – a young, strawberry-blonde-haired girl that had to be a destroyer.

Willie. With no traces of paint anywhere on her. Of course.

The destroyer dejectedly dragged herself from the water onto the pier, still clad in her rigging. Sarah noted, to her dismay, that at least half of the girl's torpedo tubes appeared to be loaded. " _Man,_ " groaned Willie. "The same thing every time. Nothing ever changes."

Sarah's heart skipped a beat. _That… that voice…_

She came to a halt, studying the shipgirl. Short, strawberry-blonde hair. Heterochromatic blue and gray eyes, behind a pair of thick glasses.

The same basic sailor-suit uniform blouse and cap. Cutoffs and sneakers.

 _It_ _ **has**_ _to be…_ " _Em!?_ " she exclaimed.

Willie turned to stare at her. "Wh–" Her eyes widened when she spotted the approaching woman, the color leaving her face. "N- _no_!" Panicked, she dove to the left of the woman, and bolted even before she was properly on her feet again, nearly stumbling in the process.

"Wait!" Cursing, Sarah spun and launched herself after the destroyer, grateful that she had chosen to wear pants with her uniform rather than a dress skirt. No doubt she'd need the extra protection.

 _Emily._ Her older sister had been hiding here, at the base? Why?

She was the one who had wanted to enlist, not Emily! Sure, most of her stint thus far had seen her serving as little more than a file clerk… but she'd work her way up, right? How else would she follow in her grandfather's footsteps?

Emily had remained behind, unwilling to give up her supervisor's job at Target.

Eventually, however… everything began changing.

Wanting to spend Christmas and the last days of 2015 with her family, Sarah arranged for holiday leave. She'd arrived late in the evening to find their parents had guilted Emily into helping Jason, one of their cousins, study for an upcoming history test. Better Emily than her, she supposed. Jason didn't need to hear _her_ rant about how stupid it was for teachers to schedule tests on the day their students returned from winter break, when everyone's minds were still full of slush.

So, she headed straight for her bedroom to dump her duffel bag in a corner, swap her uniform for a far more casual set of clothes, and crash on the bed.

Her eyelids had barely drooped closed for a second when Emily started to scream.

She was on her feet in an instant, and in the family room in time to see a strange younger girl with shipgirl rigging stop _glowing_ with a soft golden light and _floating_ to crash awkwardly down onto the spot where her sister had been sitting, shearing half of Jason's history textbook in the process and creating a shallow impact crater.

Jason swore the mystery shipgirl was Emily. They'd been running through a section about the USS _Iowa_ 's service record; Emily had… _changed_ after insisting something in the text wasn't true.

Nobody could move the newly-Awakened shipgirl, let alone wake her… but Emily was breathing, thankfully, so they decided to cover her with a blanket and ease a pillow under her head. It was late, after all. Figuring out what was going on – including determining what ship Emily now apparently represented – could wait until morning, when everyone was properly awake and better able to field questions.

That… had been a mistake.

Somewhere after one AM, what had to be the entire neighborhood was jolted awake by a pair of loud explosions. The family room was opened to the outside air, a gaping, smoldering hole torn in the front wall where there had once been a bay window. And in the street… what was left of the O'Connells' SUV, a misshapen metal skeleton barely visible through the flames.

Sirens. Someone had called the fire department, and the engines were almost there.

Oh, and Emily the inexplicably young shipgirl was gone. Run away, leaving her family to explain to the police and insurance investigators just _why_ whatever had blown a hole in the wall and window had clearly originated from _inside the house_.

Nobody could give a detailed description of Shipgirl Emily or knew exactly _which_ shipgirl she was, making tracking the errant girl an almost impossible task.

 _Until now,_ Sarah concluded, determined, as "Willie" darted around the corner of a supply warehouse.

She'd originally decided that her sister had either reverted to the mentality of the child she currently was – or Emily was no more, lost to the insanity that was the shipgirl mind. Every example of oddball shipgirl behavior she had witnessed since that day only reinforced her beliefs.

But… reconciling what she knew of William D. Porter, the shipgirl, with her sister, she could easily imagine what had happened the night Emily Awakened. Regaining consciousness in the dark, wearing a completely different and smaller body, with shipgirl rigging attached.

A setup practically _guaranteed_ to lead to the 'new' Willie tripping and accidentally launching a torpedo or two.

"Em, come on!" she pleaded. "We need to talk!"

The shipgirl in question juked, and scrambled up a nearby ramp into the adjoining warehouse while she caught herself.

Sarah frowned, surveying what she could see of the inside of the warehouse through the loading bay. _Big building, lots of large crates. Plenty of places for a destroyer to hide._

"It's time to stop running, Em," she called, slipping into the warehouse. "I know where you live. Or are you planning on deserting? It's not like you can go to a different base and be a different shipgirl, you know. Your ship IDs are permanently logged in the Navy's databases as the _William D. Porter_."

No response.

She wandered further into the makeshift maze, trying to remain alert for any movement or sound that would give away her sister's position.

When the tall stack of crates slid into place behind her, cutting off her ability to backtrack, Sarah knew what tactic Emily had in mind.

Willie sprinted down the loading ramp she had used to enter the warehouse, picking up speed as she headed for the end of the pier.

 _Damn it!_ Now Sarah knew where she was, and… and…

She hated the need to trap her sister in the warehouse, but Sarah would hound her relentlessly, and she desperately needed time to consider her next move.

Sarah was right, though. She couldn't just run away, again. That had never been her intent.

Finally, she reached her goal and hesitated, staring at the water. All she had to do was hop off the pier, and she'd be where Sarah couldn't follow…

" _DON'T YOU_ _ **DARE**_ _TAKE THAT STEP!_ "

What!? Willie's head snapped up. She spun around, barely having time to wonder how the hell Sarah had escaped the trap so quickly before her sister barreled uncontrollably into her, inertia pitching them both off the pier.

Willie landed, somewhat unsteadily, on her feet atop the water… while Sarah pinwheeled, hitting the water like a stone that had failed to skip. The destroyer immediately rushed to the spot where her sister had gone under, waiting for Sarah to bob to the surface. Neither of them were at all new to swimming, so it wouldn't take long for her sister to regain her senses and head for shore.

That didn't stop her from worrying, however; Willie was one step from diving after her sister. The normal shipgirl aversion to swimming was easy to overcome when one ended up treading water as often as she did.

An instant, and one of Sarah's hands broke the surface of the water. She lunged for it, and without a word drew Sarah up, gently draping the hapless yeoman over her shoulder, and climbed back onto the pier.

Sarah managed a laugh. "Always could catch you… _little sister_ ," she wheezed.

Willie snorted, setting her down against the side of a forklift and taking a seat next to her. "Uh-huh. Whatever." She closed her eyes, finally allowing herself to relax. "So… how _did_ you get out of that warehouse so quickly?"

It was Sarah's turn to snort. "Em, you only put a wall behind me. You didn't box me in."

"I… I didn't _mean_ to run away, y'know," a subdued Willie admitted after a moment's sheepish pause. "But, well, when you wake up, don't know what's going on, and the first thing you do is blow stuff up…" She lowered her head into her hands. "I was probably halfway across the state by the time I realized it."

"'Probably?'" Sarah asked, raising an eyebrow.

Willie gestured to herself. "Shipgirl, remember? I don't really recall how far I got. After that, I figured I shouldn't go home until I could pay for all the damage I caused, and since the only place an underage shipgirl can get a job is a naval base..."

Sarah sighed. "Oh, Em… Did you even know this was where I was stationed?"

"Umm… no? I, uh, never had much reason to remember the name of your base before."

"Em! You could've asked someone if I was stationed here."

"Yes, and then they'd tell you a shipgirl was asking about you, and what I looked like."

"You don't know that for sure." A weak argument, definitely, but Sarah refused to believe her sister had had no options.

Willie only offered her an even grunt, for which she had no immediate response.

She caught sight of the look of misery the destroyer wore, and tried to hide her wince. Unbidden, memories of all the cruel comments she'd ever heard about shipgirl William D. Porter rose to the fore in her mind, and stubbornly refused to leave.

The mutterings of the shipgirls Willie had somehow covered in training paint, whom she'd passed on her way to the range.

What _she herself_ had thought.

"How… how do you live with everyone making those… _comments_ about you?"

Again, Willie snorted. "It's not like they aren't true. I'm _William D. Porter._ I'm a danger to _both_ sides with a torpedo."

Her heart went out to her sister. "Em, they shouldn't be saying things like that about you at all," she asserted, drawing the young shipgirl into a hug. "I don't know how, but I'm gonna help make everything right."

"What?"

Sarah smiled, though her sister couldn't see it. "Trust in your big sister Sarah, okay?"

Willie had to admit she was confused. What did Sarah have in mind? The scorn and comments were one thing, which she did her level best to ignore – but it wasn't as if Sarah could change the fact that William D. Porter was a certifiable klutz.

Her confusion only grew when Sarah's body began to take on a soft, golden glow…

* * *

Yes, I know I'm being selfish when I wish that my little sister could be permanently reassigned to Yokosuka, and stay with us. I will freely admit that.

But, she's an officer assigned to a U.S. naval base. Inducted into the San Diego fleet even before she was moved into drydock for repairs.

And today, she's heading home.

Her home, I mean. Not ours.

The weather was overcast, today, which I guess helps begin to describe how I was feeling inside.

It was difficult to keep myself from trying to sneak glances at Shinano, who was seated beside me on the APC's cold metal seats, and as quiet as she had been when she arrived in Yokosuka. Or Nagato, who sat opposite us.

Musashi and Misa had had to offer their goodbyes early this morning; they'd both drawn escort duty. The Abyssals haven't tried to intercept any freighters for a handful of weeks, now, but nobody wanted to risk viewing that as anything other than a lull or calm before a storm. So, all ships operating in Japanese waters required an escort.

The Admiral preferred the escorts to look intimidating enough, assigning a battleship or two to accompany them whenever possible. Mutsu and I had gone on one run, Nagato and Fusou, another.

Most of the time, that's all we do – stand around, try to project that _you_ _ **really**_ _don't want to mess with us_ air.

Only Hiei was exempt from the roster, as the Admiral believed she wasn't entirely ready to be deployed. However, someone had started a rumor that Hiei _was_ ready, and it was simply that Kongou had talked the Admiral out of sending Hiei into any sort of danger. An obvious lie – why wouldn't Kongou want to keep _all_ her sisters safe? – though it had still managed to get Hiei worked up for a brief while.

"Oneesama?" Shinano's voice cut my mental wandering short. "We've arrived."

I raised my head and took a quick glance about the APC. The engine's been cut, and Nagato and Shinano were both staring at me, as if expecting me to be the first to stand.

As much as I wish we could start the APC again, turn around and take Shinano back to the base, I know we can't do that. I'm sure she misses her current home and friends. She has duties and responsibilities.

She… she has to leave, and we can't put this off. "I apologize," I hedged, drawing myself up. "I, Yamato, did not mean to spend all this time lost in thought." Not that the drive from the base to the airfield is _that_ long…

Nagato quirked her eyebrows, in her usual _who are you trying to fool?_ expression.

I shifted my attention to Shinano, and was stunned by the look of guilt that had surfaced on my little sister's face. "Yamato-oneesama, I will be fine," she assured me, though it sounded to me as if she may be attempting to convince herself, as well. "I've got Iowa and the rest of the Fleet to watch over me. And you _know_ Akagi, Kaga and the others wouldn't have cleared me for duty unless they believed I was ready."

Well, that was true, but…

She weaved around me to get to the gate and stepped out onto the ramp, leaving Nagato and I to follow. "You have my email and regular mail addresses, and if you want to call me by phone or Skype, we'll have to set it up in advance. I can't afford to leave a line open all day like Iowa does."

"Did I give you my contact information?" I'm sure I did, but it never hurts to double-check.

"Yeah. I've got your cellphone number and the number for the main office, your email address and your Skype username. And Musashi and Misa gave me their information, too."

We paused at the bottom of the cargo plane's ramp. Shinano stared up into the darkened interior of the plane for an awkwardly long moment.

"Well…," she said at last. "I guess… I guess it's time for me to go."

 _Please, don't go!_ "You should not feel as though you have to rush," I told her, somewhat weakly.

She grimaced, then visibly collected herself. "Actually… I do have to rush, I think. With the way the U.S. has been having trouble getting any shipgirls above heavy cruiser classes, the Admiral has been very eager to get me back there, serving as a carrier."

Oh. I certainly can't counter her Admiral's commands. If he wants her to return as soon as possible, there's not much I can do.

Something of my depression must have been visible upon my face, because Shinano immediately closed the gap between us to hug me. "Like I said, I'll be fine." Her voice was stronger, now. More assured. "And I promise to stay in touch every chance I get."

I made an effort to rein in my emotions before returning the hug. "Of course you will. You are a _Yamato_." Moving her to arm's length, I added, "Just remember – be strong, but also sensible and safe."

"I will. Thank you, oneesama." She offered me a bow, and turned to head into the plane.

As Nagato and I cleared the runway, the ramp retracted with the chorus of older metal parts grinding, groaning and clanking that I'd come to expect from the cargo planes. The hatch sealed, and the plane began following the runway, picking up speed.

"Have faith in her, Yamato," Nagato strained to overcome the sounds of the plane's take-off. "I'm sure she will make you proud."

I closed my eyes. "I _do_ have faith in her. But as her older sister, it is within my right to worry. And, we both know that anything can happen in a time of war." Deliberately ignoring the phantom twinge that made its presence known along my port side – a memory of the past that would haunt me forever – I sighed. "Even those believed to be powerful or invincible can be brought down." No matter what Musashi likes to claim, we shipgirls are not invulnerable or unsinkable. I can only hope Shinano doesn't forget that.

* * *

 _I am_ _ **never**_ _taking any of those flying dumpsters, ever again!_ vowed Shinano, raising a hand to push one of the main doors to the Naval Base San Diego carriers' barracks open. _Never ever._ _ **Never**_ _._

The flight between Yokosuka and San Diego was a mind-numbingly long and boring trip, over thirteen hours in the air slowly crossing the Pacific.

This time, she'd prepared for the boredom by stockpiling manga volumes and paperback novels in storage. Her faeries read just a little bit faster than her, however, which had led to a fair amount of frustration – and some heated arguments – whenever her crew refused to give her the next volume in a series.

What she hadn't anticipated was boarding a plane that creaked or groaned with the sounds of old, tortured metal and machinery far too often for her tastes. Damn it, she was already paranoid enough about how severely she must be stressing the aircraft without having _more_ reason to believe the plane could disintegrate around her in mid-flight.

 _It doesn't really matter. I'm through. No more rides in flying dumpster deathtraps. Period._

Shinano frowned. Being Naval Base San Diego's solitary carrier meant she had the carriers' barracks all to herself, and spending some time alone in the relative peace of her quarters was sounding more and more like a very good idea.

Then she turned the corner, crossing into the hallway that led to her room, and froze.

The door to the room immediately to the right of hers was open, with a few moderately tall stacks of cardboard moving boxes lined against the wall.

 _Someone's moving in? But these are the carriers' barracks. Where could they have found another carrier?_ The base's track record with summoning wasn't likely to be broken anytime soon… so, the newcomer had to be another Awakened shipgirl.

She edged closer to the door, hoping to at least catch a glimpse of her new neighbor… only to nearly collide with Iowa, as the battleship strode from the room into the hall.

"Hey, Shinano," Iowa greeted her loudly, ignoring the other shipgirl's frantic gestures to convince her to lower her voice. "Sorry for not going to meet you myself. I've been helping the Fleet's newest member get settled in."

So much for any hope of stealth. "Who's the new recruit?"

Iowa gave her an odd look. "Haven't you been reading your text messages?" She quickly reconsidered, pushing Shinano into the room. "Never mind. I'll introduce you."

The recruit was an impressive carrier, she had to admit. A tall, somewhat willowy shipgirl with notable engines. Curiously, her uniform appeared more casual than formal, invoking the image of a belted sundress with a red bandanna tied around her neck. Short brown hair, a longer tail incongruously emerging from her funnel atop her head.

But, that face… she _knew that face…_

"Saratoga, I'd like to introduce the armored carrier, Shinano. Shinano, this is USS Saratoga, CV-3."

"… _O'Connell!?_ " blurted Shinano.

"Ah," Saratoga replied, blinking. "Lieutenant Commander Kobayashi?"

"You?" Shinano asked in disbelief. "But… you _hate_ shipgirls."

The American carrier gave her a small, knowing smile. "When did I ever actually say I hated shipgirls, Shinano?" she demurred. To herself, in a far quieter voice, she added, "Everything changes."

* * *

" _Bismarck, please report to the Admiral's office. I repeat: Bismarck, please report to the Admiral's office._ "

At the docks, Prinz Eugen sighed, rolling her eyes skyward out of habit as the announcement was relayed over the base's public-address system. "What could she possibly want _now_?"

The Fleet was only now filing onto the docks from the water, returning from a sortie on which they'd repelled the Abyssal assault with surprisingly little damage all around.

They were proud of their hard-fought accomplishment, and happier than they had been on launch. Bismarck wasn't about to deny them the right to celebrate their minor victory in any way. Briefly, Bismarck met her sister's gaze. "I'll see what this is about. Keep an eye on everyone, okay?"

Yes, she decided, turning onto the path that led directly to the Admiral's office. Let them enjoy their victory, for as long as possible. She was sure she had a decent guess as to why the Admiral was requesting her presence…

Admiral Dietrich was not a patient woman.

Intercepting and sinking attacking Abyssal forces was a good thing; they were defending the country and its people, and every Abyssal they sank _did_ contribute to the thinning of the enemy fleet.

But not fast or aggressive enough for the Admiral. No, the Admiral was most likely about to order them to deploy on runs to locate and smash whatever bases the Abyssals may have established within range of Kiel.

A tactic for which the Fleet was _not_ prepared. And one that would leave the base and coastlines considerably under-defended.

If not that, then some other plan of attack geared for a much larger, complete fleet, as opposed to the small motley Kiel Fleet. It wasn't advisable to gamble when you've brought next to nothing to the table and bluffing is the only option left.

Could that be the Admiral's plan? Make the Fleet appear more impressive and intimidating than it was?

She slipped into the outer office and shut the door behind her.

The Admiral didn't need her permission or presence to run the Fleet to ruin. So what could she do to prevent… or even _stop_ that?

When Admiral Dietrich emerged from her office a moment later, wrists secured behind her back and flanked by two stern _Feldjäger_ officers, she blinked. _Uh… that should do it, I guess?_

The woman immediately spotted her, and snarled. " _ **You**_ _!_ " She lunged, making it halfway to Bismarck before the _Feldjäger_ could restrain her. "You're behind all this, aren't you, Bismarck? _Answer me!_ "

A weatherbeaten and gruff older man in an Admiral's dress uniform stepped into the door frame behind them. "Get her out of here," he ordered, not giving Bismarck a chance to respond to the accusations.

As the _Feldjäger_ hustled Dietrich out of the office, the apparent Admiral approached Bismarck. "And you must be Bismarck, I'm guessing?" he said, in a voice that, while softer than it had previously been, was clearly used to issuing orders on a regular basis. "Pleased to meet you, my dear. I'm Admiral Reinhold, and I am assuming command of this base, effective immediately. It was I who sent for you."

Bismarck hesitated. "And Admiral Dietrich…?"

"She'll be moved to a secure holding facility, while they determine the full extent of her crimes." The momentary flash of steel behind the man's gaze surprised Bismarck. "It's bound to be a long list. Sad to say, but _certain people_ have a tendency to look the other way so long as the person 'under observation' is getting results."

Ah. That possibly helped to explain why Admiral Dietrich was willing to risk resorting to such a scheme – if the Fleet continued to achieve those results, would those 'certain people' never bother to investigate exactly _how_ Dietrich had obtained the help of shipgirl Bismarck?

 _No,_ she concluded. _It was just a half-assed plan, that's all._

"I must admit, you chose an interesting method to solve the problem," commented Admiral Reinhold. "Contacting your Admiral in the U.S. Navy, having him and his people approach the U.N. with your plight, and convince them to revisit their policies on the treatment of shipgirls before bringing everything to the attention of the German government and military command."

A pause, as he studied her. "I take it you weren't sure if there was anyone in the command chain here in Germany you could trust." When she averted her gaze, he forged onward. "…Anyway, you'll be pleased to know that your status and rights as a U.S. citizen have been fully restored. Effective immediately, I am hereby discharging you from service in the German Navy – a service into which you should never have been inducted – and whenever you wish to return to the United States, just let me know."

Bismarck was taken aback. Her own gamble had worked, apparently, and she was now free again. She could go home, to her family. Resume her commission with the U.S. Navy as though nothing had happened. No crazed German admirals trying to shanghai her into service.

But… she had family _here_ , too. And the Kiel Fleet was absolutely no better off than when she had arrived.

If she left now, she'd be forcing her sisters to shoulder her responsibilities to the Fleet, _and_ leave them down a battleship's strength in the face of a still-mounting Abyssal campaign.

"Umm… actually… sir, if you don't mind, and if it's at all possible… I'd like to stick around a little while longer. At least until the Fleet is better able to stand on its own."

The Admiral let himself slump somewhat against Hoffmann's desk in obvious relief. "My dear, you don't know just how much I've been hoping you would say that."

* * *

Hanne Dietrich stewed in silence.

She was under no illusions that she would be able to weather this storm with only a slap on the wrist and no loss of rank. Whatever that _bitch_ had done… having that old fool Reinhold take her command, while others scrutinized her every action and decision for the past decade, or more?

No. She wasn't stupid. Bismarck had managed to call attention to her. Embarrassing, unwanted attention. So, naturally, the Navy would toss her to the wolves and insist she was to 'serve as an example.'

Her career was over, and only one specific disobedient and scheming shipgirl was to blame.

The wagon took a set of short curves at speed, letting her know the precise route they were following to the prison. She had used the road once or twice – a trail that largely followed the coastline from atop a graded slope some meters high.

Of course, everyone insisted upon treating it like a speedway, racing through despite the sheer drops and annoying twists and turns.

Not that the knowledge served as any sort of consolation. She deliberately settled further into her seat, half-heartedly tugging on her seat belt's shoulder strap for want of a distraction.

Her head shot up at the sound of a cannon discharging. _Is that–_

Then there was a loud explosion directly ahead, and she felt the wagon lift, pitch to the left… her center of gravity violently shifted, and she realized to her horror that the wagon had been _thrown from the road_.

They dropped, suddenly, and impacted _hard_ against something, causing her to black out.

When she jolted back into consciousness, she found herself dangling from the ceiling. The wagon was no longer moving, but also upside down. If she hadn't been wearing her seat belt…

Something grabbed the outer shell of the wagon and tore it away as though it were merely aluminum foil, casually flinging it to one side. _Rescuers? How long have we–_

That thought abruptly died at the sight of the barely-teenage girl who casually walked through the jagged tear into the wagon.

Chalk-white skin. Wearing clothes and armor of varying shades of black. Her face framed by thick, wavy strands of glossy black hair that suggested, on some level, was meant to resemble seaweed. And her eyes… glowed a cold, electric red.

An _Abyssal_! She'd read all the intel, descriptions from shipgirls and others across the world, even studied the artists' renderings – as the damned things couldn't be caught on film or otherwise be detected by normal technology.

The closest she'd ever expected to come to an Abyssal was examining a dead Abyssal – intact or in pieces – on an autopsy table! Not meeting a decidedly _living_ demon, capable of committing grievous bodily harm in so many different ways, especially now that she was restrained…

The Abyssal positioned herself face-to-upside-down-face with Hanne. " _ **Well, well, well,**_ " she said, in a voice that spurred thoughts of an oil slick. " _ **What do we have here, hmm?**_ "

Hanne's body went limp as the darkness claimed her.

* * *

Author's notes: Now, I don't have any _actual_ deadlines set in place for this story. I just release chapters as I finish them.

That said, Real Life went a long way in December toward keeping me from getting much work done on the story (and tried to do that in January, as well). Some scenes ended up longer than expected, and in addition, I ended up trying to work on it while very sick. Fun!

Special thanks: J. St. C. Patrick, Pyeknu, Captain Kurt Hoffman


	22. How to Cope With Turbulent Waters

_Please wait._

Bismarck rolled her eyes, subconsciously drumming her fingers on the side of her desk.

It was almost a constant. Even the newest and highest-end computer equipment could only go so far in speeding up software installs.

Not that her new laptop was necessarily 'high-end.' She had discovered it in a store when she and her sisters were finally able to head into the city together – a relatively recent system with good specs, selling at a price that was surprisingly quite a bit less than she had anticipated.

So. She had a laptop.

A laptop with an ugly black and gray fake-metal shell, and which shipped with Windows 10 installed… oh, well. Nothing was perfect.

Regardless, it was _hers_. Her first computer that wasn't a hand-me-down or pieced together from many, many other computers' outdated components.

Wheeling her chair away from the desk about a foot, Bismarck let her gaze fall upon the brand new cat bed tucked into the small space between the left side of the desk and the corner of the room. She smiled; Otto was curled up tightly, snuggling into the bed as he slept.

Admiral Reinhold had allowed her to keep Otto on-base, so long as the kitten didn't become a distraction… or a nuisance.

But… really. A nuisance? What was the little guy going to do – start drunken brawls with the cruisers?

The setup program flashed a new message on-screen. Skype had finished installing itself. She started Skype to continue the process, creating an account, checking the settings and hardware to make sure everything was configured the way she preferred _and_ working correctly.

Another moment saw her entering Iowa's Skype ID into the search bar. The network immediately located Iowa, and she added the name to her address book.

Bismarck hesitated, staring at the entry. What time was it in San Diego? Was the difference eight hours, again… or nine?

It was after twenty-two hundred, now – she'd wasted a good portion of the evening setting up her new laptop and everything she'd bought for Otto – which meant that it was early afternoon in California. Both she and Iowa had tended to be busy during the daylight hours, even before Iowa assumed the role of Commander of the Fleet, so the American battleship was more than likely away from her quarters.

 _Still,_ she told herself, determinedly clicking on the button that would start the call, _it won't hurt to try._ Hadn't she put off calling Iowa a number of times, already?

And besides, with any luck, Iowa might have realized she should be recording the damn calls. Bismarck didn't want to imagine how her gambit _could have_ failed had she decided to risk calling her friend through Tirpitz' Skype setup, rather than use email.

Iowa's computer quickly answered, as expected, treating her to an unexpectedly clean view of the other battleship's room. _What? Where's all the piles of paperwork Eugen mentioned? The mess?_

"Hello?" she hazarded. "Iowa, are you there? It's me… Bismarck."

The sound of something mildly large toppling over and hitting the floor filtered from the direction of Iowa's kitchen. " _Biv'mahk!?_ " a familiar voice blurted from off-camera, Iowa sounding very much as though she were trying to speak through a mouth packed full of food.

 _Guess I caught her having lunch,_ mused Bismarck, fighting the urge to laugh while memories of some of Iowa's past meals came to mind. The American battleship preferred to keep herself well-supplied, and didn't give a damn if anyone watched her eat.

Iowa audibly choked down her mouthful of food, weathering the brief surge of coughing that resulted. " _Just… just give me a minute, okay?_ " She dashed to her computer desk and hopped into the chair, tossing a wadded paper towel at her trashcan. " _Sorry. Ordered pizza for lunch, and it took them_ _ **forever**_ _to fill the order._ " Grumbling, she added _sotto voce_ , " _You'd think they'd be used to it by now._ "

The username listed on Iowa's screen caught her attention. " _Hey, you're not using Tirpitz' account?_ " she asked, adding the name to her address book.

Bismarck shrugged. "I bought a new laptop, so I figured I'd set up my own account."

" _Oh…? A new laptop, hm?_ " A sly, shameless grin crept onto Iowa's face, prompting Bismarck to sigh. " _I don't suppose it's powerful enough that you'd consider joining our online games?_ "

"…Possibly," admitted Bismarck, warily. She'd never truly learned why her fellow battleship was so… _obsessed_ with online gaming, dragging Naka, Yamato and Musashi into her sessions, with Shinano probably not far behind. Didn't Iowa have enough players on her team, already?

 _Am I really in any sort of position to say "no" to her, though?_ she reminded herself, with no small measure of guilt. _If it wasn't for her…_

 _I owe her my freedom._

She swallowed, gathering her nerve. "Iowa?"

" _Yeah?_ "

"…Thanks."

Iowa blinked. " _For what?_ "

"Everything."

" _Oh._ " Iowa smiled – an honest, normal smile, free from her usual attitude. " _C'mon, we're friends, right? We help each other._ "

…And then, it was gone. " _So, how's it feel to be the new temporary U.S. Navy liaison to the Kiel Fleet?_ "

'Liaison.' Bismarck snorted. A new title, to remind everyone that she was technically an outsider, a 'guest' member of the Kiel Fleet as opposed to a permanent assignment.

As far as the Fleet was concerned, however… she was still one of them. She would sortie with them and fight just as fiercely as she had under their former Admiral.

It had been two days since she and Admiral Reinhold contacted Admiral Treston, who officially restored Bismarck's commission and helped her set her new title, after some debate. If anyone among the Kiel Fleet had had issues with her change in status, they likely would have made it known during the previous night's battle.

" _What else has been going on, there?_ "

"Quite a bit. For starters, the Admiral's said that because he keeps hearing how naval bases with shipgirls on-staff are more efficient, like Yokosuka, he wanted to try it. So, he's having Eugen double as his personal aide."

" _I give it about two weeks before she starts hating the job. Probably less._ "

Bismarck shot her a warning glare. "Knock it off, Iowa." The American's dislike of office work was hardly a secret, and Iowa's attempts to convince everyone else to share that belief could easily become tiring.

After all, Yamato, Nagato and Mutsu had no complaints about working in the Yokosuka office, from all accounts. And Eugen seemed to be taking well to her new job, so far.

What of the other bases out there with shipgirl staff? Was it even possible for someone to do efficient work, if they hated their jobs?

 _Wait a minute. Why am I bothering?_ No matter what argument she raised, sooner or later Iowa would reduce everything to a gripe against office work in general. Better to change the subject now, while she still had some control…

"It looks like someone may have 'rescued' Admiral Dietrich from custody."

Iowa's expression turned grave. " _What? How?_ "

"We're not completely sure." Bismarck shook her head. "The report we received from the _Feldjäger_ says that someone apparently blew up a section of the mountain road they were using to take her to the prison. They found the wagon at the bottom of a slope – upside down and torn open. The only people inside were the two guards who took her into custody… both dead."

" _Sounds like she had help. But she was probably hurt in that fall, too, so I'm guessing she hasn't gone that far._ "

"Well, the Admiral has the guards on alert in case she doubles back and shows up here. The _Feldjäger_ are continuing their investigation, _and_ scouring the area for her."

" _They'll get her,_ " Iowa insisted, steeling her gaze. " _She's not gonna escape answering for what she's done._ "

The intensity of Iowa's declaration surprised her, and for a moment, imagining her friend participating in the investigation or manhunt brought a fleeting hint of a smile to Bismarck's lips.

"Anyway, next, the Admiral thought it's high time we tried another round of summonings."

" _How'd that go?_ "

"On our first attempt, U-345 appeared. It's too early to tell, but the way she behaves… I think she may be a bit of a slacker."

Iowa's eyebrows rose slightly, though she said nothing.

"Our second attempt was more interesting. A carrier, Graf Zepplin, answered the call."

" _So they have a carrier, now, too? That's great!_ "

Bismarck winced. "Sort of. She's like Shinano, was only eighty-five percent complete when they launched her before the war. She was never completed, and spent the war seeing very little action.

When she arrived, she collapsed right after introducing herself. Vestal'll be glad to hear one of her theories about Shinano seems to be true."

She paused for a breath. "Widder's convinced Graf will be out of commission much longer than Shinano was. She's got nobody to help her, and certainly doesn't have Vestal and Prometheus' resources."

" _I'll see if we can get a line of communication set up between_ _her and the workshop here,_ " Iowa offered after a moment's deliberation. " _Maybe that'll help._ " Assuming Widder could speak English, anyway. Or the American repair ships, German. Was it possible to have translators standing by for any calls?

"And, finally…" Bismarck's voice trailed away as she again pushed her chair away from the desk, bending forward. With an intentionally showy flourish, she scooped Otto from his bed and presented him to her laptop's camera, unable to resist a silly grin. "I adopted a kitten."

" _You… adopted a kitten,_ " deadpanned Iowa.

"Yeah. He's a little calico I rescued while Admiral Dietrich was still in charge, and Admiral Reinhold let me keep him. I named him 'Otto,' after my captain."

Iowa's mouth opened, as if to say something – but instead froze, no sounds emerging. She closed it, tried again.

Nothing.

Perhaps… a different question? " _…A calico?_ " Ah, that worked.

"Yes."

" _Bismarck?_ "

"Yes?"

" _Aren't calicoes female, like ninety-nine point nine percent of the time?_ "

The German battleship stared at her in bewilderment. "What? No. Don't be absurd."

" _Look it up._ "

Slightly annoyed, she forcefully exhaled. "Fine." Bismarck opened her browser, pointing it at the English portal for her favorite search engine, and typed, _Are calico cats always female?_

She began to wade through the results. Iowa watched with some amusement as her friend's eyes widened.

" _See? Told you. Do you have any alternate names handy?_ "

"Oh, I'm not changing the name," Bismarck informed her, matter-of-factly. She smirked. "It fits."

* * *

The violet-haired shipgirl strode purposefully through the mess hall's double-doors, wasting no time in setting her crew to the task of scanning the building for her target.

She was a submarine. Swift, not to mention powerful, and deadly.

Oh, and _furious_. Couldn't forget that.

Her target would not escape.

There. Navigation relayed the coordinates, and she set course, heedless of any ships that didn't have the good sense to get out of her path.

Mogami's hand hovered, almost absently, over the stockpile of onigiri she'd grabbed from the evening's mess hall lineup.

Some fanciful part of her always wondered, at the sight of the wide variety of food the mess offered, if _she_ could be capable of creating such things. How – dare she think it? – what chefs and cooks did was a form of art in itself.

But that was where she always withdrew, locked those thoughts safely away.

She _couldn't_ be allowed to try preparing food. No. Her curse would ruin everything, and then the whispers about her would become far worse than the rumors currently beginning to float about Hiei's attempts at cooking.

A pair of hands slammed down onto the table, flanking her tray and jolting Mogami from her self-defeating thoughts. "Where is she?" a familiar voice growled.

"What do you want, baka-Iku?" she asked, pointedly not bothering to look up to meet the submarine's gaze. Iku was leaning across most of the table, her stance providing Mogami a clear view of an uncomfortably large amount of cleavage above the collar of her swimsuit. Whether or not Iku was intentionally doing that, she didn't know.

Privately, she had to admit whatever measures had been implemented to reinforce the tables were impressive. Iku's assault hadn't so much as scratched the table.

It had, however, bounced one of her onigiri out of her tray.

"I said, _where… is… she_!?"

Mogami smirked. "Who?"

"You know who I'm talking about!" the sub screeched.

She did know, yes. But irritating the hell out of Iku had proven to be _so_ very fun… enough to pass the time until she could develop an actual plan for her ultimate revenge. How did one embarrass an exhibitionist sub with absolutely no shame, anyway?

Besides, anything that caused Iku's 'cute' act to slip was always a definite plus.

"Well?"

"…She's in the city. On a date," Mogami allowed, shrugging.

An expression of incredulity worked its way through Iku's features. " _Again!?_ " she howled. "And you didn't _stop_ her?"

The cruiser shot her a disapproving glare. Really, there was only so much _Iku_ that she could take. "I'm not her keeper, her minder, or her superior officer. And last I checked, neither are you. So why should you care if she gets a boyfriend or goes on dates?"

To be honest, Kumi didn't consider the young man a boyfriend, or her trips to the city to meet him 'dates.' She was only… spending some of her free time with a friend who shared an interest or two with her.

What, did Iku believe the guy would be stupid enough to try doing something unthinkable with a shipgirl – particularly when that shipgirl also had a minder lurking?

Iku sniffed, turning away. "You should know. Or did all those collisions break your brain?"

Mogami twitched. It was to her credit, she told herself, that she hadn't immediately vaulted the table in rage, to introduce her feet to the infuriating sub's face. "Gotta do better than that," she scolded, forcing a nonchalant tone to her voice. "Even my sisters stopped using _that_ one a long time ago."

The sub-girl remained silent, unmoving. _Is she… is she trying to think of something to say?_

Sighing, Mogami massaged her temples with one hand. "Unless you wanna tell me why you're acting like her going on dates is the worst thing that could ever happen, we're done here. Go bug the Admiral, if you think it's that important." Would Iku take the matter that far?

Huh. Did she suspect the guy was secretly an Abyssal in disguise?

"I'm not done yet!"

"Yeah, you are," insisted Mogami. "Now, _go away_. Most of us are trying to eat, here."

* * *

Out of habit, Saratoga raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sunlight, as she surveyed the training range.

Eight targets bobbed at the distant end of the lane in which she and Shinano now stood; she could guess what Shinano planned to do, if the intimidatingly large and tall wooden bow the Japanese carrier wore looped around her right shoulder was any indication.

Adjoining the lane was a maze of sorts, where smaller targets floated within dead ends – meant to test a shipgirl's ability to be fast, accurate and thorough under pressure?

Iowa had asked Shinano to escort the Fleet's newest recruit to the training ranges, with the intent of gauging how well Sara currently performed as a carrier.

Which, obviously, led to her eventual deployment in combat.

She'd surprised herself by _wanting_ to join the fight against the Abyssals. Both she and Emily had eagerly listened to the stories their grandfather spun for them as children, heroic, harrowing tales of his experiences in the Pacific in World War II. Sure, all of those stories had no doubt been embellished to sound far more interesting to the two little girls. But no matter what her grandfather may or may not have done during the war, he was still a veteran. He had served. And for that, he would always be one of her heroes, the man who had inspired her to join the Navy.

What would her grandfather think, Sara wondered, if he knew his granddaughters were both technically World War II veterans as well – the spirits of two U.S. ships that had participated in the war, reincarnated. Reborn again as shipgirls, to face an enemy threatening the entire world.

Maybe, with luck, they'd have heroic tales of their own to share. Jason's kids would _love_ hearing aunt Saratoga's and Willie's wartime stories.

Shinano cleared her throat. "Okay. Have you tried to either prepare your planes, or launch them, yet?" she asked, sliding her bow off her shoulder.

"No." Sara shook her head. "But my faeries have been explaining how to do all that to me, and… they're making it sound so complicated."

She noted that Shinano refrained from glancing at her, the other carrier keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the targets.

"It's only complicated if you prefer it to be." Shinano lapsed into an archer's open stance, readying her bow. "Now, regardless of what methods you may use to prepare and launch your planes, as carriers, we each have an instinctive knowledge of how to perform those processes. You'll want to find that instinct within you, let it guide you. Soon, you won't have to think about how to do it."

To prove her point, the Japanese carrier closed her eyes – and in a single motion drew an arrow from her quiver and nocked it, letting it fly. Saratoga watched as the arrow shifted into a faerie-sized Reppuu en route to the target, soaring into the overcast skies.

 _Huh. Impressive,_ she thought, feeling her jaw drop slightly, despite the fact that she'd witnessed Shinano nervously bite her lower lip the entire time.

She raised her flight deck to regard it, by way of her grip upon the M1928 mounted within the deck. Her faerie crew had informed her that the gun was what she normally used to launch her planes.

Sara had been confused. Her M1928, if modified, was a fully-functional submachine gun. Wouldn't that tend to… be harmful to planes?

Then Shinano's demonstration, seeing a faerie pilot take control of a Reppuu that had previously been an arrow, offered her a clue.

She could use her M1928 as a regular gun. But if she wanted her pilots to scramble, or otherwise take to the skies, and followed the proper procedures… the gun's bullets would become the equivalent number of planes from her air wing, those Devastators and Wildcats presently fueled and waiting to fly aboard her.

 _Focus._ Sara concentrated on prepping four Wildcats. _Find the instinct within you, and let it guide you._ The planes readied, she aimed her M1928 into the sky, and squeezed the trigger for a short burst. Shinano jumped at the sound, startled.

One by one, the Wildcats took to the air, joining Shinano's Reppuu and falling into formation behind it – until the Reppuu's pilot panicked, losing control of her plane, and spiraled down into the water.

Shinano turned a lidded glare upon her fellow carrier.

"What?"

* * *

Iowa pushed the latest stack of suggestions, requests and complaints from the Fleet's girls to one side, before laying her head upon her desk. She routinely saved those for last, as they were always the most interesting items among her paperwork – but they were still paperwork, so that wasn't saying much.

And, in her opinion, it should all be force-fed to an industrial stump grinder at the first opportunity, then thoroughly burned… along with the grinder.

She groaned. Until the day they let her route every scrap of paper headed her way directly into an incinerator, she'd just have to continue her never-ending tasks of filling out forms and filing.

Maybe… she could 'misplace' a few dozen pages by stuffing them into her 16" guns. A little extra propellant never hurt, she gleefully mused, cackling.

Iowa peripherally caught sight of the stack resting on the side of her desk, and sobered. Well.

Unexpectedly – or not – over half of the pile related to O'Connell in some way, one of the yeomen assigned to the Shipgirl Liaison Office until her Awakening as the carrier _Saratoga_.

An anonymous suggestion, to demand that O'Connell's replacement be someone far less hard-assed. Yeah… no. The selection was more Personnel's choice than anyone else's, anyway – and Iowa was sure that as a shipgirl herself, she had very little influence in the process, even _if_ they let her nominate anyone.

A protest, from Honolulu, claiming that her creative efforts to boost morale were being stifled. _You've got money; buy your own damn cement._ _ **After**_ _you get permission to build something._

Separate complaints from a small group of destroyers Saratoga had chewed out for picking on William D. Porter – good for her, Willie didn't deserve the level of grief she received – although the act seemed unusual for the carrier, given O'Connell's reputation, and Shinano's comment about the former yeoman 'hating' shipgirls. Hm. She'd have to keep an eye on Sara.

Iowa raised her head at the sound of a brisk knock at her door. A quick glance in the direction of her clock, and she frowned. Standard business hours. Right. "It's open!" she called.

She immediately regretted the words, as Gangut shouldered her way into the room, the Russian battleship wearing a decidedly stormy expression. _Wonderful. What's she gonna complain about this time?_

" _You_ ," Gangut began, growling, after imposing herself not two feet from Iowa. "I put up with shameful dress and behavior. _And_ attempts to bore holes through wall with speakers. But I will _never_ allow you to break spirit by forcing me on patrols!"

 _All right, that's IT._ "Belay that attitude, soldier!" Iowa barked… and refrained from smirking when the Russian involuntarily stiffened.

She steeled her gaze. "Now, I am aware that you've been grumbling about having to go on patrols – and no, I will not tell you how I came by that information. But what you may not be aware of, is that _none_ of us are exempt from patrols. Bismarck and I have gone on so many, I stopped bothering to count."

"Second, I don't have anything to do with the duty rosters," concluded Iowa. Other than sign off on the final versions, but no sense feeding Gangut any ammunition.

Not that the other battleship really needed it. "Ha!" she spat. "Everybody _knows_ you sabotage me every chance you get!"

"That's _enough_ , Lieutenant." Iowa drew herself up to her full height, hoping intimidation would work where diplomacy and patience hadn't. Hell, Gangut was even quite a bit shorter than _Kongou_ ; that alone had to be a little daunting. "Don't think for one second that I am unaware you've been behaving as if you're honoring us with your presence, that you're only here to fight your own battles, the rest of the Fleet be damned. That's not how it works."

She took a couple of steps back, making sure she had Gangut's undivided attention. "We are a team, and every member of this Fleet is a team player. If, for whatever reason, you don't think you can be part of the Fleet – or believe you are too good for our Fleet – let me know now, so I can have you transferred where you know you'll be a better fit."

Gangut resumed glaring… but with significantly less heat. Had the possibility of a transfer blindsided her?

She could even be imagining the prospect of being relegated to a desk job, although Iowa would certainly never wish _that_ torment upon anyone else.

"Well, Lieutenant?" she asked, pressing her attack.

"No," the Russian finally grumbled through her teeth, only barely meeting Iowa's gaze before choosing to stare sullenly at the floor, instead. "Is not problem. I… will stay."

Iowa nodded. "Very well. Now, unless there's anything else you wish to discuss with me…?" Truth was, she didn't want to give Gangut any further chances to complain or gripe, but being a good commander required she spend time _listening_ to the members of her Fleet.

Even a Russian shipgirl with an inflated ego.

"You're dismissed, then," she quickly wrapped up the conversation, when Gangut's only response was to continue examining the floor. "I have another stack of paperwork waiting for me on my kitchen counter that I really need to finish."

For once, Iowa thought with some small measure of satisfaction, that was a lie.

* * *

"Can our hero defeat this new servant of the Abyss with only one torpedo remaining? Find out, in the next incredible chapter of _Magical Girl Naka-chan_."

Setting her pen down, Cheryl closed the book.

She liked to believe that she was faring moderately well for a student who had joined her _Introductory Japanese_ course late. Now, she was capable of holding basic – though stilted, in her opinion – very, very polite conversations. But only if they kept to the handful of words and particles she'd memorized.

Oh, well. Nobody was expecting her to learn enough to be fluent in the language just yet, particularly with less than a semester's worth of exposure to it.

What Haruka's father _did_ want to see, however, was her effort and commitment toward learning Japanese, which she would be expected to understand to some extent when working as the man's aide. And she was determined to make sure that was precisely what the elder Kinoshita would find.

Her latest goal had been to memorize as much of the written language as possible – both sets of kana, and perhaps some kanji. A dull, tedious task… until she stumbled upon a forum post that claimed translating manga was a way to make the process fun.

She had some money to spare, so really, what did she have to lose?

Disappointingly, there weren't any 'official' manga series involving shipgirls… but by contrast _tons_ of fan-published manga, or _doujinshi_. So, Cheryl located a website that sold doujinshi, picked three 'books' at random, and had them express-shipped to her.

 _Mahou Shoujo Naka-chan_ – the first book, apparently spun from the idol shipgirl's song of the same name – was a semi-serious magical-girl series, featuring Naka alone against the dark forces of the Abyss.

The story had actually been somewhat interesting, and Cheryl made a mental note to get around to ordering the next two books of the series.

She swiveled in her desk chair, snatching the second book from her to-read pile.

A full-color sketch of a smiling Yamato adorned the cover. The website had only given the book a simple tagline – "Yamato proves her power for her Admiral." That was more than the site had provided for the third book, no description whatsoever. She'd ordered it on a whim, because the cover featured a full-body sketch of that other battleship shipgirl who'd been in and out of the news a lot, somewhat recently… what was her name, again?

Iowa. Standing at attention, against an ocean backdrop. It was a nice-looking picture, to be sure, but still didn't provide much in the way of clues as to the book's story.

The mystery could wait till after she finished her second attempt at translating, she supposed. Flipping the page in her spiral notebook to a new, blank sheet of paper, Cheryl opened the book, eager to read what new adventures fans were creating for her best friend…

Less than five minutes later, she was rushing to bury the Yamato and Iowa doujinshi in the deepest, most cluttered section of her closet, under a particularly heavy cardboard box, her face absolutely burning with embarrassment.

Both books were nothing but outright _porn_! There were people out there fantasizing about… about doing _that_ with Haruka!?

She slammed the closet shut, sliding down against the doors to a seated position. _Just great._

Her parents could never be allowed to discover she had those books. Hell, _Mr. Kinoshita_ learning about the Yamato manga was a catastrophe waiting to happen! The man would head to Japan on the earliest possible flight to have _words_ with the book's artist – after letting her know in no uncertain terms that her life was over for buying the damn things in the first place!

Better, if she just burned the doujinshi at the first opportunity.

 _Breathe._ Cheryl placed a hand to her chest, trying her best to calm herself and tamp down her rampant blush.

Damn it, she wasn't even going to be able to look at or think about either Haruka or Iowa without blushing for weeks, was she?

* * *

Author's notes: Unfortunately, Real Life conspiring to keep me busy and away from my desk quite often in February kept me from getting much work done that month… and eliminating my fake deadlines (that I wasn't even meeting, anyway) might not have helped, either. I ended up having to write the majority of the chapter _this_ month.

I'm fairly sure 2018 and Real Life have it in for me. ^_^

The in-universe version of the _Mahou Shoujo Naka-chan_ manga is more of a "serious," full magical-girl series, as opposed to the actual, real-life _Mahou Shoujo Naka-chan_ doujin series. I wanted to give Cheryl more reasons to look further into the series, if nothing else.

Special thanks: J. St. C. Patrick, Pyeknu


	23. Uncharted Territory

Most of the people who lived in Yokosuka liked to believe that they were used to seeing strange things.

There was definite reason to believe the claim had merit; the naval base attached to the city was home to the largest fleet of shipgirls in Japan, if not the world. Wholly unexpected turns of events involving shipgirls were more likely to happen than Abyssal attacks on Yokosuka… a small price to pay, considering those same revered warship spirits-turned-shipgirls were risking their lives to defend the country on a daily basis.

So, the citizens of Yokosuka took their protectors' quirks in stride, and went about their lives as normal. Aoba's continued efforts to break into television tabloid journalism? Shimakaze, inventing an all-new form of 'extreme breakneck rollerblading?' Akatsuki's attempts to find a cheap yet still good-quality violin in secret?

Business as usual.

A somewhat-bulky figure, features hidden underneath a dull brown cloak, darted in and out of the narrow alleys between buildings.

It… it had to reach the base. There were no other options. It couldn't allow itself to be seen, or captured, or… wait.

Roughly ten meters away, a neatly-folded pair of five-thousand yen notes lay in the middle of the street.

The figure dithered. Its chances of being discovered, and captured, or… or worse, _killed_ , increased astronomically with every step it took into the open… but at the same time, ten thousand yen. Wasn't that worth the risk?

A quick glance to both ends of the street confirmed that no cars were turning onto the road, and the few people lurking were otherwise preoccupied.

The figure launched itself from the entrance to the alley – then, realizing its mistake, hastened to slow its pace to power-walking, instead.

In no time, it stood beside the pair of yen notes, crouching, extending a hand encased in black metal…

" _Hey!_ What d'you think you're doin'? That's _MY_ money!"

It hesitated in mid-grab, as a somewhat-stocky middle-aged man emerged from behind a nearby business' van. The man moved to snatch the money… and paused at the sight of the figure's armored hand, still protruding from beneath its cloak.

He narrowed his eyes. "Hey, you one of those 'cosplay' freaks?" So many people, going nuts over the chance to waste money on dressing like their favorite characters. Good thing he'd outgrown that starry-eyed phase years ago. Kids today needed desperately to learn some responsibility. Any at all.

The figure noted that the man's loud voice was drawing people to stare at them, and withdrew its hand. It had to get away!

Simultaneously, the man caught sight of his friend, who had been standing near the opposite end of the van. He motioned to the figure with his eyes; the other man nodded.

The figure began to edge backward, cautiously, not letting the man or any of the onlookers out of its sight – until suddenly, the cloak was torn from its grasp.

The man gaped, yen notes fluttering out of his hands in pure shock. "A-Abyssal…," he managed to gasp.

Everyone froze at the sight. The Abyssal – whose gaze flitted between them all in what could _not_ be fear – looked almost Human, a girl wearing jeans, and a faded pastel yellow blouse… if one ignored the fact that the girl _also_ had deathly pale skin, impossibly long white hair in braided pigtails, and eyes that glowed with a piercing cyan light behind a thick pair of black glasses. Enormous black-metal gauntlets that appeared to be fashioned primarily from resized oil drums. Armored boots. A field headset that seemed _alive_ , large jagged teeth promising pain for anyone that dared touch it aside from its Abyssal mistress.

" _ **W-wait–**_ "

And like that, her voice broke the spell. Each of the bystanders screamed, fleeing in random directions.

"… _ **Aww, fudgebuckets,**_ " she cursed. Within seconds, she was the only individual remaining on the street.

Her improved hearing caught the sound of sirens, and someone a block or two away yelling for the JMSDF to be called. " _ **Double fudgebuckets.**_ "

Oh, yeah. The base! She had to get to the base!

The Abyssal broke into a run, abandoning her attempt at stealth in favor of an all-out dash.

A moment later, she sprinted back to the street to grab the abandoned yen notes and restarted her run toward Yokosuka Naval Base once more.

* * *

"What!? Are you sure?"

Nagato, Mutsu and I glanced up from our workstations at the Admiral's exclamation, instinctively tensing. Whenever the Admiral reacts like that to a phone call, it usually leads to a sortie on short order.

I always found myself flashing through possibilities, trying to guess what plan of attack the Abyssals could be using… particularly as I think I've been getting better at matching those scenarios with the proper response.

The Admiral locked his phone and rushed into the outer office. "We're getting reports of an Abyssal sighting in the city," he announced, frowning. "Based on the descriptions, I doubt she's anything less than a Princess. Probably an Installation."

I felt my heart leap into my throat. An Abyssal Installation, on the loose within the city? Anyone we send to deal with her will be hindered, worrying about firing while in close proximity to buildings or civilians, and avoiding property damage.

An Abyssal… would have no such concerns.

"Nagato." The Admiral turned to face her, even though she was already one step ahead, relaying the order to assemble a force to drive the Abyssal from the city, over her smartphone. "I want you to–"

Whatever command he had been about to give faded alongside his voice as the base's alert sirens abruptly started to blare. As one, the three of us shot to our feet.

The Admiral's phone rang. He wasted no time in unlocking it. "Goto, here. What's going on?"

His face paled, again setting us on edge. "…Admiral?" ventured Mutsu.

He didn't respond for a brief moment. "It's the Princess. She's taking the main road and is on her way _here_ in a hurry."

We rushed to follow him out of the office and to his jeep, parked outside. He motioned for us to climb on, with Nagato, as always, taking the shotgun seat. "If we can reach the main gate before her, I want you three to be our primary line of defense. Nagato, have everyone else on full alert status and ready to go."

"Yes, sir!"

* * *

There was no sign of the Princess when we arrived at the gate, save for the sounds of heavy-arms fire and explosions, not too far away. We couldn't see much of the exchange other than the trails of smoke drifting into the sky, even with our optics, due to all the twists in the road and scenery… but she was there.

If our base is her goal, and she's determined to reach it as quickly as possible, the Princess won't let anything short of a shipgirl detain her for long.

At the Admiral's direction, the three of us fanned out just past the gate. I took the center position in the middle of the road – the Admiral's first choice for intercepting a charging Abyssal bull head-on – and Mutsu and Nagato formed the ends of the arc a handful of meters ahead of me, both standing on the meticulously-trimmed grass well off to each side of the road.

We didn't have long to wait after summoning our rigging and bracing ourselves for a fight with an intensely strong enemy, for the Princess to appear.

The first thing that struck me about the Princess was how Human and _afraid_ she appeared to be. She had none of her armament summoned… and for some reason, was wearing an outfit I'd expect to see on a teenage Human girl, not an Abyssal.

Had she been trying to sneak around in the city, I wondered? Her Abyssal features, those gauntlets and the headset would easily give her away…

The Princess skidded to a halt just shy of the line Nagato and Mutsu formed, her boots gouging a rut in the pavement. She stared, wide-eyed, at the multiple turrets tracking to point directly at her. " _ **Whoa, whoa!**_ " she yelped, throwing her hands into the air. " _ **I surrender! I didn't come here to fight!**_ " A sigh. " _ **I came here for… uh… what's that word? Oh, 'sanctuary!'**_ "

" _Sanctuary!?_ " the three of us echoed in disbelief. An Abyssal, asking for sanctuary?

"She may be telling the truth about not wanting to fight," the Admiral interrupted, again dividing his attention between us and whoever was on the opposite end of his phone call. "She didn't attack or retaliate against anyone she encountered on the way here. She only dodged and ran."

Still, we remained on guard, keeping our cannons trained on the Princess, fully prepared to act if necessary. Unexpected behavior or not, she _was_ an Abyssal Princess, and that she had her arms raised in a gesture of surrender with her armament unsummoned did _not_ mean she was defenseless.

"Why are you seeking sanctuary?" Nagato asked, unable to hide the distaste she felt at the thought of offering safe haven to a member of the enemy's forces. It certainly wasn't sitting well with me, either.

The Princess paused, as if the question had taken her by surprise. " _ **…Because I don't WANT to be an Abyssal, that's why! I wanna be normal again!**_ "

" _What!?_ " From all three of us.

"Those clothes…," the Admiral observed, moving to stand off my starboard side. I couldn't risk firing with him in close proximity to my guns – but I dared not mention that with the Princess listening. "Are you saying… you were Human?"

" _ **Yes! Uh… well, I was, this morning. I was flipping through the channels on our TV, trying to find something to watch. There was this World War II documentary that looked a little interesting, so I left it on that.**_

 _ **Then there was this really sharp pain in my head… and next thing I know, I'm like this, and Mom and Dad're disowning me and kicking me out of the house because I'm an Abyssal – and I don't know why!**_ "

I shared a glance with Nagato. That description had sounded suspiciously like an _Awakening_. But… this was an Abyssal Princess, not a shipgirl!

The Admiral's eyes narrowed. "You're sure there wasn't anything about the Abyssals that may have appeared on the TV while you were watching it? News reports, text on the screen…"

" _ **I'm sure.**_ "

"You weren't thinking about the Abyssals in any way?"

" _ **No!**_ "

"Very well," the Admiral concluded. He slowly stepped out into the open, cautiously approaching the Princess, until he stood face-to-face with her. "What's your name?" he asked, gently.

" _ **Wata–**_ " She exhaled, catching herself. " _ **Oki.**_ "

"We'll need your full name and address, if we're going to investigate your story."

" _ **Okay. It's– was, Watanabe Oki. One-twelve four-oh-twenty-**_ _ **four Kanagawa-ken Yokosuka-shi, Kamoi, two-seven-four. Good luck getting my parents to admit I even exist, though.**_ "

After a moment's thought, she added, " _ **Oh, and the imps said I'm a 'Supply Depot Princess,' whatever that means.**_ "

Imps. Supposedly, imps are the Abyssal counterpart to our faeries, although I've never seen an imp outside its Abyssal, or whatever craft it's piloting.

The Admiral finished entering the information into a note on his phone. "Yamato, Nagato, Mutsu – stand down and dismiss your rigging."

I noticed the Princess' eyes widen at the mention of my name, as I followed the order… which didn't feel like a good idea, to me, but I trust the Admiral. " _ **…Yamato-sama?**_ " She turned to offer me a proper bow. " _ **I wish we could've met under better circumstances.**_ "

"Oki-kun, you understand that for now, we must place you in protective custody, in a holding cell under twenty-four hour guard." It went without saying that part of that guard would likely consist of one or more shipgirls. The brig wasn't engineered to hold an Abyssal or prevent her from escaping, so if she chose not to be civil…

She winced, but nodded. " _ **I understand.**_ "

Despite my concern that the Admiral had yet to move from where he'd chosen to stand, directly in front of an _Abyssal Princess_ , he turned his attention to Mutsu. "Contact Musashi, and have her join us while you and I escort Oki-kun to the brig."

Motioning for Nagato to follow, he made his way back toward me. "Did that sound like…"

"An Awakening?" I asked, perhaps the most qualified of the three of us to answer. "Yes. However, I have never heard of anyone Awakening as an Abyssal."

Nagato frowned. "Unless there's a link between shipgirls and Abyssals that none of us are aware of."

"It could be a fluke," the Admiral suggested, not quite convinced. "In any case, let's keep this quiet for now. I don't want to start anyone panicking about possibly Awakening as Abyssals, or give the crackpots more fuel for their fires."

The more conspiracy-minded people out there had no end of patently insane 'theories' about shipgirls and Abyssals. One of the most popular claims insisted that Abyssals were nothing more than disguised shipgirls, wreaking havoc as part of a grand scheme perpetrated by the navies of the world to 'make themselves relevant again.'

Needless to say, anyone who had ever served with a military force or run afoul of an Abyssal assault tended to strongly disagree.

"I want the two of you to go to the address she provided, and see if you can verify her story." Or as much of it as possible. Even if the Watanabes did live at that address and had a daughter who somehow Awakened as an Abyssal… could they be sure this 'Supply Depot Princess' was the _same_ Abyssal, Watanabe Oki?

* * *

I was updating the morning's morale reports at my workstation when I found myself needing to stifle a rather strong yawn.

"Oh, my." Reluctantly, I glanced up from my desk, to where Mutsu stood, reclining against the frame of my office's doorway. She grinned. "Aren't you getting enough sleep, Yamato?"

Taking the obvious teasing at face value, I sighed. "With Musashi around? Unlikely."

"Oh, that's right." The expression Mutsu wore shifted to one of concern. "I heard she's 'marathon gaming,' again."

"Yes. And for her, the volume control can only go in one direction… _up_. How she isn't bothering anyone else in our barracks, I may never know." I'd even made sure to get her a pair of headphones when Naka purchased her computer. But has Musashi ever removed them from the blister pack? Of course not.

Mutsu dropped into the chair situated beside my door. "Well, we didn't hear anything."

"Your room and your sister's are at the opposite end of the building. Musashi isn't _that_ loud, yet," I said, raising an eyebrow. It was true; any disturbances I or my sisters caused, such as the shouting match Musashi and Misa had held shortly after their arrival, would first bother Fusou, then Hyuuga and Ise and the _Kongou_ sisters in turn, before Mutsu and Nagato.

A chuckle. "What _is_ she doing, exactly?"

"She is obsessed with a new game she discovered, yesterday. It's called, 'Overwatch.' And Musashi has been trying to talk Iowa, Naka and I into playing it with her."

"Which means…?"

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath and releasing it. "Which means that by this time next week, all three of them will be demanding that I play."

"Oh, I'm sure it won't be as bad as you're implying," she scoffed.

"Naka," I firmly repeated, because Mutsu was _missing the point_. "And Iowa."

"Yes," replied Mutsu, wryly. "I take it all back. Clearly, I've underestimated the severity of your predicament."

With an ease that had to have come from dealing with many similar stares from her sister, Mutsu casually ignored the deadpan glare I leveled at her, the bemused smile she wore only growing.

"I'll admit to being curious what the big deal is about those games. I don't want to spend all day playing them, like Musashi, but… maybe, someday, I'll give one a try."

The comment caught me by surprise. Cautiously, I studied her for a long moment, wondering whether or not she was telling the truth. "As long as you avoid involving those three, you should have no problems," I told her.

"Mmm."

My phone, which I'd left laying atop my desk just in case the Admiral or Nagato called, suddenly lit up, playing the opening to _Yamato's March_. Mutsu raised an eyebrow at my choice of songs, but kept her peace.

The Admiral was out of the office, checking in on Oki, our Abyssal guest, with Nagato in tow.

We'd paid a visit to the address Oki had given us, per the Admiral's orders, and verified that it was indeed owned by a Mr. and Mrs. Watanabe, who hadn't yet officially struck Oki from their family registry but steadfastly behaved as though she did not exist – until they realized where they had previously seen _me_ , and with that came the revelation that the two women from the naval base paying them a visit to inquire about their daughter weren't simply ordinary women named 'Nagato' and 'Yamato…'

The spirits of the battleships _Nagato_ and _Yamato_ , as shipgirls, were guests in their home. Informing them that their little girl was safe, and in protective custody.

Nagato had been as taken aback by the sudden switch to reverence as I was.

They allowed us to look through their photos, listen to recordings, and watch family videos… the most recent being a video taken during Tanabata. Oki-chan definitely had the same base voice as our Abyssal guest, and it wasn't difficult to see her facial features in those of the Supply Depot Princess.

But we still couldn't explain _why_ a girl had spontaneously Awakened as an Abyssal.

The spooks and scientists _loved_ her. A friendly Abyssal Installation, willing to answer their questions, let them examine her… and even better, take pictures and video clips of her?

As the days slowly passed, however, she showed more and more signs of growing stir-crazy. What was effectively solitary confinement left her with extremely little to do, save for watching TV and her efforts to try to hold a conversation with whoever was present, no matter how trivial the topic.

While scientists throughout the world had tried to discover ways to revert Awakened shipgirls to the regular Humans they had been – for those few who wanted nothing to do with being a shipgirl – absolutely no progress was ever made, in that regard.

Likewise, everyone who's examined her have admitted they don't know where to begin attempting to reverse Oki's Abyssal transformation, with or without the data from the previous similar experiments with Awakened shipgirls.

So, this morning… almost a week after Oki had placed herself in our custody, she volunteered to help us fight the Abyssals. She _was_ an Installation and a Princess, after all, considerably more powerful than a standard Abyssal battleship, and felt she needed to repay us for allowing her to stay.

Plus, the Abyssals themselves weren't helping; there's been a notable upsurge in incursions at the mouth of the bay for the past few days.

"Admiral?" I inquired, raising my phone to my ear. "This is Yamato."

* * *

Admiral Goto cast a long, appraising look across his newest charge, a young woman turned Abyssal Princess. "You're absolutely certain you want to do this, Oki-kun?" he asked at last. "As an Abyssal Installation, you'll be restricted to a specific location. And, depending upon where you're stationed, you might find yourself under constant attack from Abyssal forces – perhaps even something more powerful than an Installation can handle."

The question, thankfully, gave her pause. Though ultimately, she steeled herself. The blue eldritch energies that illuminated Oki's eyes rose sharply in intensity. " _ **Yes. I want to do this. Since it looks like I'm gonna be an Abyssal for the rest of my life… it's time an Abyssal did something for good instead of causing death and destruction.**_ "

Nagato's gaze softened. She hadn't taken long to warm to the poor girl and her plight, Goto knew; as much as Nagato tried to securely hide and lock away her emotions, she couldn't stop herself from caring or worrying.

Whatever Nagato was repressing was none of his business, even if he had a reasonable guess. But, practically everyone – from the JMSDF's 'counselors' to annoying busybodies on TV – insisted that it wasn't healthy to 'bottle everything up.' Could she use an outlet, perhaps? Some relaxing, non-destructive hobby… like keeping a journal, or caring for a pet?

Mutsu and Yamato, meanwhile, both understandably remained a little more wary of Oki than Nagato. But what the _rest_ of the base thought of their Abyssal guest, including those shipgirls who'd already met Oki, like Musashi, he had yet to discover.

He'd hoped to stem as many potential problems as possible by informing everyone on the base about Oki and her predicament, first thing, and warning them to keep the matter quiet… not as easy a task to accomplish as it had once been, what with the Internet available for anyone to leak news to the entire world within minutes.

And then… there was Aoba. His precautions seemed to have discouraged the cruiser from releasing her own exposé – online or off – thus far, but given Aoba's recent ventures into tabloid territory, he had no way of knowing just _what_ she might release.

"But where… is she going to be stationed?" Nagato's tentative question brought him back to the matter at hand. He noted the brief hitch to her words. Some part of her still chafed at the concept of intentionally _allowing_ an Abyssal Installation to claim a position in friendly territory, he surmised. As it did him, somewhere deep inside.

This was a unique opportunity, however, he told himself. A girl, transformed without her consent into one of the most powerful known types of Abyssal? An Installation, willing to fight for them, to turn her strength and firepower against her 'fellow Abyssals?' He'd be a fool not to seize the advantage he was being given.

"If we station her close to the base, she'll be safer, but see little to no action," reasoned Nagato. The measures to keep Abyssals out of the bay had been ramped up and improved considerably after Yamato and Iowa's inadvertent sortie to deal with a small force that had slipped past the blockade.

Oki shook her head. " _ **The heck with that.**_ "

"Oki-kun?"

The Abyssal's expression was unreadable. " _ **I'm supposed to be a really powerful Abyssal, right?**_ "

"...Yes?" Nagato replied, blinking.

" _ **Well, when I said I wanted to help, I didn't mean I wanted to be stuck somewhere away from the action, safe and sound, while all of you guys are risking your lives. If that means I need to be on the front lines, then that's where I wanna go. Umm… with your permission, Admiral. Place me where I can help the most, sir.**_ "

Nagato studied the girl. "There is that large rock formation just outside the mouth of the bay," she offered after a moment, reluctantly. "It's flat, somewhat like a miniature island, and would give her the advantage of higher ground. She can coordinate with the watch teams there to help detect and repel Abyssal attempts to get into the bay."

"… _ **And they can keep an eye on me,**_ " Oki exhaled, drawing the obvious conclusion.

"Oki-kun, I must ask again," Goto insisted. "Are you _sure_ you want to do this?"

She nodded. " _ **Yeah, I'm sure. I am a little scared – but like I said, I can't just go on hiding here, knowing there's something I can do.**_ "

The Admiral closed his eyes. _She shouldn't have to make that choice,_ he told himself.

Technically, Oki's predicament wasn't that much different from Haruka's, at least on a basic level. Relatively ordinary girls, who'd found themselves thrust into the war through unexpected circumstances… and despite that, both wanted to participate in the fight against the Abyssals any way they could.

With luck, the war would end long before anyone reached a point of no return, and ordered the conscription of all able-bodied shipgirls. It was difficult enough to avoid thinking about little Hikaru-chan going into battle whenever Inazuma and her sisters came to mind.

"…Admiral?" Both Nagato and Oki were watching him expectantly.

"Very well," he stated, then spent a moment fishing for his phone and scanning for Yamato's entry on the speed-dial list. "Nagato, I want you and Yamato to escort Oki-kun to that 'island.' I'll get the ball rolling with the other outposts there."

Nagato inclined her head. "Yes, sir."

" _Admiral?_ " Yamato's voice answered after two rings. " _This is Yamato._ "

* * *

The Abyssal Princess' assault was deviously simple, severe and utterly devastating in effect, and Nagato found herself hard-pressed to simply weather it.

Worst of all, it had absolutely no rhythm whatsoever. Not that she'd tell Oki that, though.

 _Naka. It_ _ **has**_ _to be one of Naka's songs._

She fought the urge to twitch. The two of them had settled in outside the brig, waiting for Yamato to arrive with the APC that would take them as far as the docks. But, Oki, unable to contain her restlessness, promptly took a seat at the curb and began humming a song Nagato couldn't recognize, backed by an annoying beat the Abyssal girl briskly tapped against the cement with her metal-clad fingers.

" _ **How long do you think it will be**_ _ **until**_ _ **Yamato-sama can get here?**_ "

Nagato narrowed her eyes, turning her gaze toward the end of the road where the APC would eventually appear. "Knowing our motor pool? Anywhere from another ten minutes to the rest of the evening." She hoped Yamato didn't end up being delayed _that_ long; it had been mandated that anyone wishing to head out from the docks after sunset at any of the naval bases in Japan _must_ be accompanied by a proper escort.

For the time being, as far as Nagato was concerned, the fewer individuals directly involved in their Admiral's gamble, the better.

She heard Oki gasp. " _ **Hey, are those**_ **computers** _ **?**_ "

Nagato followed the Abyssal's gaze to the walk-in bin directly across the street, where larger items were stored to be hauled away as trash. A stack of older CRT monitors, keyboards and PC towers was indeed visible, tucked just within the entrance. "Ah," she acknowledged. "Yes. Human Resources was finally given the go-ahead to upgrade their terminals, as I recall."

" _ **And they're just**_ **throwing out** _ **the old ones?**_ " Oki shot her an incredulous stare. " _ **That's a waste!**_ "

She blinked. "W-what?" A waste? The JMSDF's standard procedure for upgrading a department's computers involved ensuring that each of those old towers had their hard drives removed, and the remaining hardware was set out for recycling. How was that wasteful?

But the Abyssal was already charging much like a bull toward the bin, intending to examine the computers. " _ **Someone can still use these things, like a school, or something!**_ " she exclaimed, then peered around the restraining wall. " _ **Is that a couch!?**_ "

Uh-oh. Nagato sprinted, arriving at the bin just as Oki waded into the pile. "Oki-san! Get out of there!"

" _ **There's nothing wrong with any of this stuff, so why are people throwing them away? And this! I'll bet this is a perfectly-working stereo! Somebody's probably only getting rid of it because it's an older model with a record player!**_ "

" _Oki-san!_ "

* * *

It's always a good idea to wait for an APC to slow to a complete halt – double-check, if possible – before standing.

Sure, it sounds like it _should_ be common sense. But after spending weeks as a fairly heavy object, an unadjusted shipgirl who could stand in an APC in transit without fear of being toppled in any way… sometimes, I found myself on my feet as if it were a perfectly normal thing to be doing in a military transport vehicle on the road.

I suppose someone will suggest I can just increase my weight to the upper limit I had while 'adjusting,' on those occasions, but why encourage bad habits?

The APC eased to a halt with a loud groan, and I braced a hand against my seat to offset the slight tug forward that followed. Not too long ago, I'd thought that letting momentum bend me every which way while Mom or Dad were driving was funny, a break from otherwise dull drives. Now? I doubt you'd ever catch me doing that, unless Naka, Iowa and Musashi decide it'll somehow help me have fun.

I climbed over the APC's rear gate. The first thing I noticed, once my feet were on the pavement, was Oki, seated on the curb outside the trash bins. Her eyes were locked on her feet, embarrassment evident in her features if one recognized the signs.

Idly, it occurred to me to wonder whether or not Abyssals could blush.

Nagato stood near her; the tension present in the way Nagato carried herself suggesting she was somewhat annoyed.

My gaze caught on the empty large-item bin behind them. I stared, puzzled. "Have they changed the trash pickup schedule?" Normally, the bins aren't emptied until tomorrow.

"No." Nagato's voice was flat. Wait, was that a twitch? "Now, let's get going. We don't want to be traveling after dark."

* * *

" _ **So, that's the 'island?'**_ " Oki asked, surveying the rock formation as it came into view. " _ **Huh. You weren't kidding when you said it was 'miniature.'**_ "

While Nagato and Oki's attention turned to our destination, I surreptitiously edged my phone out, long enough to check the time from the clock on my lock-screen. Oh, sure, asking my crew for the time may be slightly easier, especially if I actually _did_ want to avoid having anyone notice me check… but I preferred to do it myself.

We had close to an hour of daylight left.

The longest part of our trip, of course, had been the time it took to steam from the base to the mouth of the bay – after spending ten minutes helping Oki become accustomed to floating and steaming upon the water.

"This is it," Nagato announced in a somber tone of voice, as we maneuvered close to the 'rear' of the formation, where what almost could be considered a terraced ramp loosely wound around the rocks to lead to the top. "If you've changed your mind and want to turn back, we'll understand."

Oki didn't respond. She chose to step onto the islet and follow the would-be trail to the top, standing at the center of the small plateau, where she cast her gaze out toward the sea. " _ **I can–**_ " she said at last, without turning to face us. " _ **I**_ **will** _ **do this.**_ "

An uncomfortably long moment passed. " _ **…okay, now what?**_ "

"We don't know how the Abyssals do… anything," conceded Nagato. Everything seemed fairly surreal to me, considering we were putting effort into trying to get an _Abyssal Installation_ to set up shop within our territory. "Perhaps… what if you tried choosing your spot, and concentrate on the thought of taking your position?" she hedged.

Oki _hmm_ ed. She braced herself, spreading her feet apart, and closed her eyes.

I could feel dark power swirl, becoming uncomfortably tangible, and surge.

Without warning, the lower half of Oki's body erupted into a mass of huge black root-like tendrils which spread outward in every direction – latching onto the rock and solidifying into what Nagato and I knew from our experience in fighting similar Installations to be effectively as tough as pure steel – anchoring Oki in place.

The power surged exponentially higher, pushing us farther and farther away. I raised my arm to shield my face against the turbulent winds and water thrown at us by the forces, the two of us ramping up our turbines straining to remain in one place.

An instant later, we had to drop our anchors behind us in a bid to stop ourselves when the dark tempest abruptly _vanished_ , leaving us dangerously close to running aground against the rocks.

" _ **YOU.**_ "

The Supply Depot Princess glared over her shoulder at us, and immediately summoned her entire arsenal to aim in our direction. Her eyes blazed. " _ **YOU'RE PLOTTING TO STEAL MY SUPPLIES, AREN'T YOU? I WON'T LET YOU. YOU WILL**_ **SINK** _ **FOR YOUR FOOLISHNESS.**_ "

I held my ground, as it were, refusing to flinch. Unfortunately, my own cannons weren't pointed anywhere near her, so if she decided to open fire… " _Oki-san!_ " I sharply admonished her.

" _ **I WILL–**_ **no** _ **!**_ " Oki visibly strained to regain control of herself. After a tense moment, she dismissed her arsenal, shaking her head to clear it. " _ **Omigosh, I'm SO sorry, Yamato-sama, Nagato-sama! There was this massive surge of power, and I lost control!**_ "

Nagato met my gaze, disquieted. Did all Installations receive such a power boost when they took their positions? That was by no means a good thing.

"Do you have it under control, now?" Nagato inquired.

" _ **I…**_ _ **think so.**_ "

"Good." There was a faint note of relief to Nagato's voice. "Let's start getting you coordinated with the outposts."

I said nothing, distracted by the way some of Oki's tendrils occasionally undulated in much the same manner as a snake swallowing its prey, almost as though absorbing… _something_ from the underlying rock.

Are we _sure_ this is a good idea?

* * *

A wide, sinister smile graced the Lolland Island Princess' face, as she bobbed in the water, assessing the massive fleet assembled on the beach and nearby vegetation under the night sky.

 _Her_ fleet. The thought always sent a thrill through her; scores of destroyers, cruisers and submarines awaiting _her_ commands. Strategically tormenting the humans and shipgirls alike, fueling their despair and slowly, painfully, leading them to lose all hope, before sending them all sinking into the Abyss.

Not that she knew _why_ the humans and shipgirls needed to be destroyed, outside of that part of her – of all the gathered Abyssals – that automatically took offense to both, everything they had done, and wanted them _gone_.

Her options had thinned when it came to the larger capital ships, however. Only three carriers… including herself, as an Isolated Island Princess, but no battleships. Annoying, since the Kiel fleet now counted two battleships among its ranks – though not impossible to work around.

Now, she had a battleship of her own.

She propelled herself closer, stepping onto the beach. The new recruit, what the humans had deemed to classify as a 'Re-class' battleship, dropped to one knee as she approached, head lowered. " _ **You may rise,**_ " she commanded.

The Princess couldn't resist the smirk that bubbled forth as the battleship stood, the tattered remains of the human military dress jacket the Re wore over her clothes swaying in the midnight breeze.

It was a relatively common practice among the Abyssal fleets, to swell their numbers through corrupting captured marine life and humans. Really, there was a dark, delicious irony in having the humans aid in bringing about their own doom…

Imagine her surprise, then, when the prison wagon she'd intercepted contained no hardened criminals, but a deposed naval officer. A surprise which only grew when the woman emerged from the Corruption as a battleship.

She nodded in approval. " _ **Excellent. You'll make a valuable addition to my fleet.**_ "

The Re grinned, her shark-like teeth gleaming in the moon's pale light. " _ **I live to annihilate and sink any targets you set before me.**_ " Her tail hovered at her side, appearing to concur. " _ **As long as you allow me one thing.**_ "

" _ **Oh?**_ " The Lolland Island Princess raised an eyebrow at the minor act of defiance. " _ **What would that 'one thing' be?**_ "

" _ **Leave the**_ **Bismarck** _ **to me.**_ **I** _ **will be the one to sink her,**_ " the battleship vowed. " _ **She's**_ **mine** _ **.**_ "

* * *

Author's notes:

…Let's just say Real Life sucks, and leave it at that.

Special thanks: J. St. C. Patrick, Pyeknu


	24. Situation Normal, All Fouled Up

"Thank you, everyone! I love you all!"

Naka's multi-gigawatt smile and coy wink were immediately mirrored across each of the giant screens that curved around the rear of the stage. The audience roared, some chanting her name.

She'd been instructed, at the beginning of her career as an idol, how to read the crowd. How to _play_ the crowd… which had ultimately led to the realization that her handlers at the time had been more interested in manufacturing a 'perfect' idol than allowing her to proceed on her own merits.

Hadn't she done that? Become a popular idol through hard work and her own talent?

She had proposed the idea to provide a link between the Fleet and the public. Everyone wanted to be assured that the Fleet was routing the Abyssals, fighting hard for them, every day. What better way to do that than entertain and ease tensions, as the Idol of the Fleet? Particularly since, at the time, there had been no symbols for the public to easily latch onto, like Yamato.

Carefully threading her microphone back into its stand, Naka proceeded to walk off the stage – resisting the urge to throw her horsepower into her lightly-bouncing steps – waving to her fans along the way.

Only when the event's stylized scaffolding gave way to painted cinderblock walls backstage, did she allow herself to slump wearily upon one of the benches lining the corridor.

"C'mon, sis," a familiar voice chided. "You do this stuff on a regular basis. You can't be _that_ tired."

Naka didn't bother with raising her head to frown at Sendai as her older sister approached and dropped onto the bench beside her.

The name-ship of the _Sendai_ -class of light cruisers was dressed simply, in her favorite worn red hoodie, blue jeans and tennis shoes in contrast to Naka's more elaborate, colorful and frilled stage costume.

Naka groaned. Oh, if only Sendai _knew_. "I still have that panel in about an hour, too."

That earned a snort from her sister. Naka had never cared much for panels or talk-show appearances; she had no difficulty relating to anyone, but she preferred to let it happen naturally, rather than as the result of a staged environment. Worse, in Naka's opinion, it was one of the dreaded panels that required a group of veteran idols to answer questions from and offer advice to newcomers.

"You just don't want to encourage anyone who might end up being more popular than you in a few months," Sendai teased, knowingly.

At that, Naka's head shot up. She leveled an icy glare at her sister that Sendai casually ignored, stupid grin not affected in the least. Why did sisters have to be _so_ annoying?

She pushed away from the bench, frustrated, and decided to head for her dressing room without another word.

Sendai watched until Naka disappeared around the curve of the corridor before standing, sliding her hands into her hoodie's pockets. Honestly, when it came to Naka's career as an idol… her little sister turned herself into an uncomfortably big target for abuse and didn't seem to realize it.

That thought somehow led to their elder sister. Jintsuu. Sendai closed her eyes and sighed.

Jintsuu, who had yet to be summoned – what was their sister _waiting_ for!? – and whose reincarnate was still adjusting to the concept of _being_ Jintsuu, much less a shipgirl.

Jun was now more or less a ward of Admiral Robinson's, the ranked officer in charge at Naval Support Activity Saratoga Springs, in New York. But she was a lone Japanese shipgirl, among a fleet of U.S. shipgirls. And Jintsuu _had_ always been the more gentle and soft-spoken of the three… what if some of those American shipgirls decided to visit old grudges upon her?

The Admiral had promised them that Jun would remain safe at the base. They wouldn't have her go anywhere near a deployment or sortie, even on the extremely unlikely chance she demanded to participate.

As if those were the only ways Jun could get into trouble.

What could they do, though? They certainly weren't going to insist Jun be uprooted from her home and have her moved to Yokosuka just because Jun was their sister.

Sendai paused in her walk, again sighing. _We miss you, Sis._

Her eyes wandered about the empty corridor. For concerts, the sisters' minders currently chose to give them a little freedom, working gate watch and crowd control as opposed to hovering around like uptight damcon faeries. She was grateful for the space – Naka's minders alone tended to be _especially_ clingy.

Finally, Sendai's meandering brought her to her sister's dressing-room door. She peered around the door frame into the room, in time to see Naka tugging her orange shipgirl uniform jumper over her head, then meticulously brush her hair back into place.

How long _did_ it take for Naka to dress in or remove all those elaborate costumes they had her wear?

Sendai reconsidered the thought. Hell, how did any girl – who didn't have the strengths of a shipgirl backing her – contend with this insanity, every single day? Just watching Naka run herself ragged daily in multiple ways was enough to convince Sendai that her little sister would forever be the only entertainer in the family.

"You're wearing your uniform for the panel?" she asked, a minor note of surprise entering her voice.

Naka's only response was a bland, "Mm."

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Sendai stepped into the room and pretended to study the costume Naka had left hanging on the otherwise-empty clothes rack. "Eh, not that I care." She shrugged. Naka had already made who knew how many public appearances in uniform, after all. "I just thought the people who arrange those things liked everyone to look… 'professional.'"

"What's unprofessional about our uniform?"

 _Oh, I don't know… the fact that everyone keeps seeing you do your bouncy idol thing while wearing it, maybe?_ Sendai wanted to snark, though she knew better than to voice that thought in her sister's presence.

Both Naka and Sendai turned at the sound of a knock at the door, and a tentative, "A-ano… Naka-sama?"

Sendai gave the newcomer a once-over. The girl half-hiding in the doorway wore the sorely unimaginative black-on-white 'STAFF' T-shirt and plastic electronic ID badge that identified her as a member of Naka's entourage. Other than that… there was nothing remarkable about her to set her apart from any of the girls attending high school in Yokosuka, as far as Sendai was concerned. The girl was even following the trend of wearing a couple of hairpins crisscrossed at her left temple, despite her close-cropped hair.

"Ah, Kanzaki-san," greeted Naka, at once bright and cheerful again. Sendai raised an eyebrow at the transformation. "I'm sorry, I didn't have time to speak to you earlier. This is my sister, Sendai. Sendai, this is Kanzaki Ayane, our new intern."

Ayane offered Sendai a proper bow. "It is an honor to meet you, Sendai-sama."

"Um, no, the honor is mine, Kanzaki-san."

"I've been looking forward to working with you, Naka-sama." Curiously, now that introductions had been made, Ayane seemed to have gained a surge of courage. "I've always been a fan, and I've got all your albums," the intern gushed.

Sendai blinked. "Why?" she asked, edging into place behind Naka – a move she regretted a moment later, when the idol sharply elbowed her in the gut.

Undaunted, Ayane pressed onward. "You know, I tried to become an idol, myself… but the agency told me I 'didn't have the face and voice they were looking for.'"

Naka was silent for a beat, as though determining what she should say. Finally, she winced. "Yeah, I've heard they can be brutal. Don't let them discourage you, Kanzaki-san. If you need to, try other agencies." She forced a wan smile. "As long as you're willing to keep at it, who knows? Maybe someday, we'll perform on stage together."

 _Oh, please._ Sendai mentally shook her head. Apparently, Naka was getting a head start on her encouragement speeches for the panel.

And the intern was falling for it.

Ayane clasped Naka's hands in her own, eyes glimmering. "Really? You… you mean it, Naka-sama? Thank you! I–"

She couldn't help but scream as a wave of pain washed through her head, collapsing ungracefully to her knees – her grip on Naka reflexively tightening.

A bright golden light spilled into the hallway…

* * *

"...U-345?"

U-100 nudged the sleeping U-boat with the toe of her boot. The U-boats of the Kiel Fleet preferred to keep to themselves unless circumstances required them to work or socialize with the rest of the Fleet. U-345 had quickly become an exception to that policy, however. On her off-hours, the Fleet's newest U-boat was content to curl up and sleep or otherwise laze around practically _anywhere_ on-base, and instances of base personnel stumbling over a sleeping submarine were becoming commonplace.

Which begged the question as to how so many were failing to notice her. Like all U-boats, U-345 was a shipgirl sporting pale blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, wearing a dark Covert-Ops uniform – the latter not helping camouflage her against the pristine Naval Base Command Kiel landscaping in the least.

In the water, U-345 acted more the professional everyone expected her to be. Once she emerged from the water and stepped onto dry land, however… all bets were off.

U-100's frown intensified. What frustrated her more, was that U-345 would freely admit to anyone who asked she was 'lazing around' or 'spacing out.'

Including the Admiral.

But had Admiral Reinhold reprimanded U-345, informed the lackadaisical U-boat that that sort of behavior was wrong and would not be tolerated? No. The Admiral had chuckled, essentially told her to carry on and walked away, with Prinz Eugen scrambling to follow him.

Admiral Dietrich would have had U-345 standing at attention in short order, never to slack off again.

Perhaps Admiral Reinhold was simply inexperienced in working with shipgirls? The man had held his rank for years. He would never allow a regular soldier under his command to behave as U-345 did… so why should shipgirls be treated differently?

"Come on, wake up," she insisted. "You can't sleep out here in the middle of the yard."

U-345 shuddered in her sleep. "'s… not mornin' yet. G'night…"

"Hey!" U-100 switched from nudging to shaking the sleeping sub with her foot. "I _said_ , you have to wake–"

A hand locked around her ankle, and U-100 was airborne as U-345 turned to curl up facing the opposite direction, levering her up and over the grounded U-boat to forcefully plow face-first into the grass.

She pushed herself up, spitting out the slight amount of dirt and grass and – on second thought, she didn't _want_ to know what else was lurking on that patch of ground – that had managed to work its way into her mouth.

Although, _something_ there had given her a faint impression of some form of oil.

A short, frustrated growl escaped her throat. U-100 attempted to turn over, with the intent of sitting up and properly shaking U-345 awake… except her foot quite stubbornly refused to move.

 _Oh,_ _ **now**_ _what?_ she wondered, casting an almost reluctant glance over her shoulder at her fellow U-boat. U-345 _had_ grabbed her ankle, hadn't she?

Her jaw dropped. The errant submarine had wasted no time in taking to cuddling her foot as if it were _a teddy bear_.

"You know," U-30 began, only for U-100 to cut her off.

"Not a word."

"But–"

"Not," repeated U-100, through grit teeth. "A word."

* * *

One of the earliest lessons Admiral Goto Seiichi had learned in his time as a shipgirl fleet commander was that no matter how prepared or well-informed he believed himself to be, the shipgirls would _always_ find some way to surprise him.

That had been… quite some time before the discovery of shipgirl reincarnates.

In theory, it was perfectly reasonable to assume that every shipgirl – and at least one Abyssal, apparently – had a reincarnate. To anticipate and expect it.

No amount of foreknowledge or preparation helped ease the sheer surreality of seeing shipgirls stand alongside their reincarnations in his office, however.

Naka was _beaming_ , all but hugging Ayane, her reincarnate. His initial impression of Kanzaki Ayane leaned toward a nervous, slightly timid young woman… not usually the type to rush to enlist, really. Naka must have pulled some strings.

Newly-Awakened shipgirls were nonetheless advised to enlist with the JMSDF. Despite their new status, Awakened shipgirls were not required to assume combat roles upon enlisting, and living on-base was easier than vainly attempting to resume the 'normal' life one had lived before Awakening.

"Welcome to the Fleet, Kanzaki-san," Goto acknowledged, briefly inclining his head. "We'll sort out the issue with your ship IDs as soon as possible. In the meantime, would you have any objections to boarding with Naka and Sendai?"

"I–"

"She doesn't mind!" chirped Naka. "We've got plenty of room, and we'd love to have her!"

The Admiral studied Ayane for a moment, providing a deliberate pause. "Kanzaki-san?"

"I… guess I wouldn't mind staying with them. Umm… I read an article that said sister ships share a dorm. Isn't that always the case?"

"Normally, yes," Nagato clarified. "However, larger classes like the _Shiratsuyu_ sisters may need more than one dorm… and as larger ships like the battleships and carriers require more room, they are assigned individual quarters in the officers' barracks converted for shipgirl use." She ensured she had Ayane's full attention before continuing. "Anyone living in the dorms may also file a request to move to separate quarters, at any time."

Ayane deliberately kept her gaze locked on Nagato, certain that her former self had a dose of shimmering puppy-dog eyes ready to use against her the instant she turned to glance in Naka's direction.

She could understand Naka's eagerness – and maybe, desperation? – to get her moved into the _Sendai_ sisters' dorm. But… she wanted to at least pretend she had some say in her future. It hadn't taken long for the agency to discover what had happened after her Awakening, so now she was being groomed not only as a stand-in for Naka, but also as the 'twin' who could perform _alongside_ Naka.

So, Naka had been right, after all. An agency finally _did_ recruit her as an up-and-coming new idol. And all she'd had to do was literally become Naka.

Sendai obviously couldn't wait for her to move in, either, though their elder sister was much, much better than Naka at playing aloof.

"Very well, then." The Admiral rested his hands upon his desk. "If there are no other concerns you wish to address, you are dismissed."

That, evidently, was Naka's cue to grab her reincarnate by the wrist, dragging Ayane out of the office. "W-what? Hey!" stammered Ayane.

"The agency wanted you to learn how to be me, remember?" Naka reminded her. "From this point on, we'll be training all day, every day!"

Goto watched the two cruisers leave, waiting until the office's outer door closed behind them to comment. "May the heavens have mercy on her," he murmured.

"Indeed."

* * *

"…Big sister Bismarck?"

Eugen shifted in her seat. The battleship was unexpectedly pensive this afternoon, and hadn't spoken a word since the two of them had climbed onto their jeep at the motor pool – Eugen riding shotgun, and Bismarck claiming one of the seats in the rear.

In truth, she hadn't needed to have her big sister accompany her on this run into the city. Or anyone other than a driver, really.

Her new role as Admiral Reinhold's aide left her with so very little free time on average, to spend with her big sister. How long would it be before that turned into no free time, whatsoever?

She had believed she was doing an admirable job of hiding her fretting from everyone… until the Admiral pulled her aside, earlier in the day, and revealed how one of her privileges as an aide might help, somewhat.

Basically, if she needed assistance with whatever tasks she was assigned, Eugen could recruit anyone in the area who wasn't busy or otherwise preoccupied.

The entire Fleet – and more importantly, Bismarck – currently fit that definition. There had been no attacks or reports of Abyssal activity anywhere in German waters for the past few days. Everyone remained on-call, and ran patrols on regular shifts, yet the Abyssals continued to lay low.

Were the monsters trying to recover from defeats handed them by the Kiel Fleet? Or… building power, preparing for a considerable assault?

Bismarck continued to stare idly at the scenery flashing past them on the left side of the jeep as their driver negotiated another set of curves in the road. _I'll bet she's worrying about the state of the Fleet, again,_ Eugen surmised.

The Admiral considered the summoning of U-345 and Graf Zepplin to be a start, even though the latter was unavoidably stuck in drydock for the foreseeable future.

There was no denying the fact that the Fleet needed an influx of new ships. Several, and of every type, so that the Fleet would be prepared to face any threat… and… so big sister Bismarck could… could return to the United States, and not have to worry about anyone here on Kiel.

Eugen hung her head, trying to sigh noiselessly. Bismarck had family and responsibilities in the U.S., as well… and she, so eager to have her big sister return with her to Germany, had very nearly helped permanently sever those ties. Sure, the goal had always been to convince Bismarck to depart for Kiel, and somehow join the Fleet – with, or without coercion. But she had never considered herself any sort of manipulator.

It hurt that Admiral Treston had leapt straight to those possibilities. Did she even have the necessary mindset, to be that sneaky?

No. Probably not.

Her gaze drifted to the briefcase she was cradling in her lap, as she forced her thoughts back to the present.

The base's sole copy machine had decided to… stop working, a few days prior. She'd been informed that the thing had actually _caught fire_ , charring both the machine and the neighboring wall.

Eugen paused to repress a shudder, then resumed her train of thought.

That office had been closed and locked up tight, before she had a chance to view the aftermath of the malfunction. Without a working copier, however, the staff had to resort to sending copy jobs to the print shop in the city… and Eugen was often the designated errand-girl assigned to make the trip there and back.

This time, at least, she had managed to commandeer a battleship.

Trees and grassy mountain slopes gave way to brick and mortar buildings at the city limits. Bismarck seemed not to notice the transition, the blonde-haired shipgirl undoubtedly lost in her own thoughts.

Only when the jeep screeched to a halt on the road outside the print shop did Bismarck finally move, lifting her legs over the side of the vehicle and hopping out onto the pavement, running a hand through her hair in a vain effort to smooth it back into place.

"This is bound to take a while," Eugen told their driver, who was already moving to lean against the shop's plate-glass windows in the shade. "So, if you want to get yourself something to eat while you're waiting, you can."

The young man grunted in response, fishing for the pack of cigarettes he kept in his uniform's breast pocket.

Wordlessly, Bismarck followed her little sister through the glass double-doors into the shop, and took a moment to let her gaze wander about the building. She had somewhat anticipated the shop resembling the Kinko's near her parents' home in Long Beach, and wasn't disappointed – the shop's storefront was even ninety-five percent glass.

Eugen plopped down onto one of the metal-deco stools lined against the counter. Bismarck joined her, drawing the nearest free stool close and settling in to watch the clerk run multiple copies of each page of the moderate stack of documents Eugen had pulled from within her briefcase.

It didn't take Bismarck long to wish she maintained a library aboard her. Common sense dictated that, hey, making several copies of a briefcase's worth of paperwork would take a while… so why hadn't she prepared to combat her own boredom?

Her phone was hardly an option. She'd already finished her daily run through all her games, and with less than fifty-percent charge left in her smartphone's battery, she hoped to conserve it for important calls and texts until she could return to her quarters and drop the phone on the wireless charging pad.

Another eight minutes saw both shipgirls struggling to keep from nodding off – until a familiar sound drove them to their feet, fully alert and filled with dread.

The report of 8" guns opening fire.

"Everybody, _**down**_ _!_ " Bismarck barked, in her best command voice… just as the jeep _exploded_ , violently shattering the shop's glass windows and doors.

Lowering the arm she had instinctively raised to shield her face from the blast – her armor was far better than that, damn it – Bismarck quickly swept her gaze across the shop, assessing the damage and the condition of everyone else on the floor, even as Eugen leapt through one of the ruined windows, the cruiser transitioning into a roll upon hitting the sidewalk.

Fortunately, in all the time they'd been visiting the shop, hardly anyone had gone near the storefront. The worst of the injuries, as far as she could tell, were numerous cuts from glass shards sent flying by the explosion. Nobody appeared to be in shock, which was good – what knowledge she had of how to recognize and treat victims of shock was uncomfortably basic.

 _That_ thought reminded her of their driver. _Please be okay,_ she repeated to herself. _Please, have listened to Eugen, and be off somewhere else getting something to eat. Not standing near our jeep when it exploded!_

Bismarck winced as the 8" fire returned, now committed to an assault rather than sniping at targets, interspersed with the occasional return volley from Eugen's 20.3cm guns.

She tapped two fingers to her earlobe, opening one of the channels to the base. " _This is Bismarck. We are under attack at the print shop in the city by an Abyssal. Send backup, medical and fire teams to our location, ASAP._ "

 _It's a Ri-class cruiser,_ Eugen cut in. _She's acting alone. I've seen no signs of any other Abyssals, so far._

" _Be careful. I'll join you as soon as I can._ "

 _Gotcha._

The battleship turned her attention back to the people still recovering from the blast on the shop's floor. "Uh, does anyone have any serious injuries? We have medics on the way."

An older man, whom Bismarck guessed was the owner or manager from the way he had hovered about the clerks while they worked, clearly evaluating every step in his mind, propped himself up on one elbow to look at her. "Don't worry about us, my dear," he advised. "We'll be fine. If that is an Abyssal out there… you girls are the only ones who can take care of it. Go."

She wasn't entirely convinced, her gaze automatically straying to some of the more notable cuts.

The man chuckled, though to Bismarck, it sounded a bit forced. "This may be the only time I'll ever be able to give orders to a shipgirl… but I insist. Go. Who knows what that monster might do, if it isn't stopped?"

Bismarck straightened. "All right, I'm going," she conceded. He _was_ correct, after all – she didn't want to leave Eugen to face an Abyssal alone, and that everyone in the shop had only superficial wounds meant there really was no reason for her to be dragging her feet.

She walked toward the doorway, shards of glass loudly crackling and popping as they were pulverized beneath her boots. Pausing at the threshold, she threw one last glance over her shoulder. "Keep your heads down, and try to get behind some cover, if you can. Don't take any chances."

* * *

Two of a trio of 8" shells glanced off Eugen's forearm, rending tears in her uniform's sleeve. She growled, stopping to mentally run through several calculations before swiveling her turrets into position to loose a carefully-aimed burst.

The problem with engaging the idiot Abyssals inside Kiel was that they had to be _extremely_ careful and exact with their shots, while the demons simply fired with wild abandon, uncaring what they hit and destroyed, or if any of their shells strayed to wreak even more destruction.

One saving grace, Eugen supposed, was that the Ri was less likely to do anything with the torpedoes Ri-class cruisers occasionally carried, off the water. No dancing around near-constant streams of fish _this_ encounter!

 _I'm on my way out,_ her big sister declared over the radio, using their 'private' channel. _How are you holding up?_

" _Okay, for now,_ " she answered. Any problems that she had or were developing would evaporate as soon as big sister Bismarck joined her, she was sure.

 _Is our driver out there? Is he okay?_

Eugen hastily scanned the impromptu battlefield, to be sure. " _I haven't seen him. I'm assuming he_ _ **did**_ _go get something to eat._ "

Much to her shameless delight, the very moment Bismarck stepped through what was left of the shop's doors and the battleship stood in the sunlight, summoning her rigging, the Abyssal paled – was that even at all possible? – and withdrew, turning to slip onto a nearby side street.

" _Hey!_ " Eugen yelled, dismissing her rigging to pursue the demon cruiser. "Stop! You're _not_ gonna get away!"

Bismarck sighed. _Well, at least I got to intimidate a member of the enemy fleet,_ she thought bemusedly, allowing herself a brief smirk as she likewise dismissed her rigging to better build speed for running.

But the Abyssal cruiser's behavior didn't make sense, did it?

Why would an Abyssal be so quick to flee? Even in the face of a far more powerful enemy, the normal Abyssal tactic was to maintain a steady assault.

As for retreats… on those rare occasions when there were any Abyssals _left_ on the battlefield, the demons believed in causing as much destruction as possible while withdrawing for a final parting gift.

The Abyssals had shown they had _something_ of a grasp of tactics. Did they place any stock in self-preservation, or avoiding battles with an enemy who outmatched them?

" _I don't know… something feels weird about this,_ " commented Bismarck. " _She could be trying to lure us into a trap._ "

 _Understood. I'll be careful._

She followed the street the Abyssal and Eugen had taken for another two blocks, cursing softly to herself with the realization that she had lost Eugen's trail.

Bismarck warily eyed the nearest turn-off – an alley curving between two mildly tall buildings. She didn't want to waste time navigating the streets of Kiel while Eugen chased a rogue Abyssal, but… wasn't there a large roundabout somewhere nearby? An ideal place to send up a couple of her Arados to scout around, maybe activate her radar. Being in close proximity to so many buildings had never done a thing for her detection, though it was still better than nothing. Right?

Really, she mused, sprinting into the alley, she needed to discuss alternate means of tracking other members of the Fleet in situations like this with the Admiral. Maybe they could slip trackers into everyone's phones, have an app that plotted their locations against a map of the city…

An unusually overshadowed large alcove not-quite hidden by a dumpster tugged sharply at her danger sense as she passed. Something… was something there?

Before she could complete her turn, a bulky, armored serpentine form shot forth from the shadows to snare her about the shoulders like a lariat, wrapping around her and constricting _very_ tightly.

Bismarck reflexively clenched her eyes shut in pain, feeling her hull beginning to buckle and groan under the pressure as the thing lifted her off her feet. Her faeries were panicking, trying desperately to maintain hull integrity.

" _ **Hello, Bismarck,**_ " an Abyssal voice spat.

With effort, Bismarck cracked one eye open… only to find the maliciously grinning maw and cannons of a Re-class battleship's tail hovering an uncomfortable few inches from her face.

She forced her gaze to track from the Abyssal battleship's tail down to the body. Typical Re-class; same hoodie, same demented smirk. The only detail that set the Re apart at first glance was the remains of a German Navy uniform dress jacket, that the demon casually wore over her hoodie.

A familiar, _Admiral's_ dress jacket. And hadn't that voice sounded a lot like… " _D-Dietrich!?_ " she stammered.

The Re froze, a confused, haunted look flashing through her glowing magenta eyes. " _ **'Dietrich?'**_ " she parroted, fixing Bismarck with an even stare. " _ **That somebody you know? Well, nobody's gonna help you now.**_ " To prove her point, she constricted her tail tighter, until an involuntary wince proved to her satisfaction that the ever-stoic Bismarck was feeling the pressure.

"What… do you want?"

A broad, toothy grin. " _ **Just thought I'd let you know I'm gonna sink you. You won't know when or where, but first opportunity I get, you're gonna sink in the most drawn-out and excruciatingly painful way. Count on it.**_ "

"You're not doing it now?" asked Bismarck, incredulously.

" _ **Nope! I'm gonna sink you on the battlefield. Fair play, and all that.**_ "

"But… you're an Abyssal." Indeed, on closer examination, Bismarck was sure she could discern hints of her former would-be Admiral's features among the Abyssal's. How the _hell_ had the woman managed to have herself transformed into an Abyssal?

Did that mean the Abyssals were actually Humans, somehow changed into demonic parodies of shipgirls?

"… _ **And?**_ "

"Abyssals don't _do_ fair. They ambush and destroy."

" _ **Oh, that,**_ " the Re replied in a cheerful tone. " _ **Yeah, I can see why you'd think that. Don't worry, though – I'm only gonna sink you on the battlefield. As long as you don't do something stupid like chicken out and try to stay away from the water for the rest of your life, everything'll be fine!**_ "

"Really."

" _ **Yup! And so you know I mean business…**_ " The Abyssal extended a hand, pulling the back of one of Bismarck's feet to her – and _squeezed_ , mangling the rudder and screw there, and shattering the underlying heel.

Bismarck barely had time to yelp in response to the sharp pain before the Abyssal battleship forcefully released her with a snap of the tail, spinning her through the nearest brick wall.

" _ **Don't you dare forget, Bismarck,**_ " the words filtered to her as the Re walked away. " _ **I'm gonna sink you, and there's nothing you can do to stop me.**_ "

* * *

Admiral Treston narrowed his eyes, carefully studying the man who stood opposite his desk. "Have we met, Captain…?"

"Meyers," the man offered. "Robert Meyers. I'm the head of the Daedalus Project. We met briefly, when the Project was in its formative stages."

The Admiral's face soon lit up in recognition. "Ah, right, right. And, wasn't it on your watch that Lieutenant Hawke Awakened?" Captain Meyers had volunteered for that initial fact-finding trip to Yokosuka, with the hope that Goto's staff could help improve Naval Base San Diego's efforts at summoning shipgirls, and asked the woman who would become the USS _Iowa_ to accompany him as his aide.

"…Yes. As you know, the Project's intent is to attempt to provide regular soldiers similar advantages to shipgirls in combating the Abyssals. However, after Iowa and Bismarck joined the Fleet, and other battleships and carriers began to appear, interest in the Project completely died off." Meyers paused to reset his glasses upon the bridge of his nose, pushing a packet of papers into the Admiral's hands. "That's why we've decided to close shop here, and move everything across the country to an independent research facility just outside NSA Saratoga Springs in New York."

The Admiral slowly skimmed through a few of the packet's pages. "Mmm. Pity. It's always good to have options." Iowa herself had wanted to be able to fight the Abyssals up close and personal – a difficult task, for a normal Human woman with no idea she would eventually Awaken as a shipgirl – which was why she had volunteered for the Project. Did no one else have the same drive?

"I believe the new facility will allow the Project to expand its horizons in ways we were unable to here, sir. In fact, we hope to have something presentable by the end of the year."

Then again, actual, usable hardware drew volunteers and backers better than prototypes and promises.

"I wish you luck, then." The Admiral rose, maneuvering around his desk to shake the other man's hand. "Have you stopped by Iowa's quarters to tell her you and the Project are leaving?" Damn it, he really needed to light a fire under some people to get an office for the Fleet Commander's use… there was a decided lack of anything that could be used as office space, and nobody was willing to consolidate.

"Er, yes. She's… very busy."

"She is," he agreed, though a part of his mind wondered at the hesitation he'd sensed in the man's reply. "Even more than me, surprisingly. I have to wonder how much of that work has been pawned off on her." Was Iowa aware she might be contending with more work than necessary? Lieutenant Hawke had spent some time working in Personnel. She _had_ to have some idea of the extent to which people were passing their work onto others.

And if that was the case, was she filling out all that extra paperwork to be nice, or because she felt obligated to do it?

He hadn't appointed her Commander of the Fleet to give everyone a convenient way to dispose of unwanted paperwork. Sometime soon, he was going to have to sit down with Iowa, and go through all her work in detail to determine what she _wasn't_ supposed to be doing.

Heaven help anyone who was deliberately taking advantage of Iowa…

* * *

Author's notes: Umm… happy somewhat late second story anniversary?

There were some spots in this chapter I originally didn't like, and that usually translates into delays. At one point, I even replaced a fully-mapped-out scene with a new, different scene right before I started writing it. So… yeah. More delays.

Ayane Kanzaki, Naka's reincarnate, is named after the _Sendai_ sisters' somewhat prolific voice actor, Ayane Sakura.

Special thanks: J. St. C. Patrick


End file.
